Книга - 8 Sandpiper Way

8 Sandpiper Way
Debbie Macomber


Perfect for fans of Maeve Binchy' - CandisI have something to confide in you. I think my husband, Dave, might be having an affair. I found an earring in his pocket, and it's not mine.I'm also worried because some jewellery was recently stolen from an old woman - and Dave used to visit her a lot. You see, he's a pastor. And a good man. I can't believe he's guilty of anything, but why won't he tell me where he's been when he comes home so late?The Cedar Cove series is now a hit Channel 5 TV series, appearing on UK screens on CHANNEL 5USA










Make time for friends. Make time forDebbie Macomber.

CEDAR COVE

16 LIGHTHOUSE ROAD

204 ROSEWOOD AVENUE

311 PELICAN COURT

44 CRANBERRY POINT

50 HARBOR WAY

6 RAINIER DRIVE

74 SEASIDE AVENUE

8 SANDPIPER WAY

BLOSSOM STREET

THE SHOP ON BLOSSSOM STREET

A GOODYARN OLD

BOYFRIENDS WEDNESDAYS AT FOUR

TWENTY WISHES

SUMMER ON BLOSSOM STREET

HANNAH’S LIST

THURSDAYS AT EIGHT

CHRISTMAS IN SEATTLE

FALLING FOR CHRISTMAS


Dear Friends,

Welcome to Cedar Cove! If you’re a regular visitor, you’ll be happy to know that Olivia, Jack, Grace and all the rest are waiting to tell you about the current events in their lives. And if you’re new to town, you can expect to make a whole group of new and interesting friends.

As many of you already know, Cedar Cove is loosely based on my own home town of Port Orchard, Washington. The streets and businesses are disguised but easily recognisable. As an unexpected result of the Cedar Cove stories, our little town has become something of a tourist destination. Because of this, a group of wonderful volunteers headed by Jerry Childs and Cindy Lucarelli organised Cedar Cove Days, which took place in August 2009. Check my website at www.DebbieMacomber.com for information.

If you’re interested in viewing the “lay of the land,” you can download a Cedar Cove map from my website—or you can receive a glossy collector’s edition free by sending a SASE to my office at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA.

Although I rarely mention it, take a look at the dedication page. I’m dedicating this book to three phenomenal women who’ve been coping with breast cancer. Minda Butler lived in our condo building in Florida. Karen Sweeney, my cousin from Omaha, is now in remission. Hyacinthe Eykelhof-Mitchell is my editor’s younger sister. All three women are dear to my heart and an inspiration to everyone.

I hope you enjoy 8 Sandpiper Way. Your Cedar Cove friends are looking forward to your visit—and I’m looking forward to hearing your thoughts.

Warmest regards,







8 Sandpiper Way

Debbie Macomber


























www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)


To

Minda Butler,

Karen Sweeney

and

Hyacinthe Eykelhof-Mitchell

For their courage, strength

and

inspiration

and special thanks to my friend Emily Myles,

the fabric artist who inspired Shirley’s dragon


Some of the Residents of Cedar Cove, Washington

Olivia Lockhart Griffin: Family Court judge in Cedar Cove. Mother of Justine and James. Married to Jack Griffin, editor of the Cedar Cove Chronicle. They live at 16 Lighthouse Road.

Charlotte Jefferson Rhodes: Mother of Olivia and of Will Jefferson. Now married to widower Ben Rhodes, who has sons David and Steven, neither of whom lives in Cedar Cove.

Justine (Lockhart) Gunderson: Daughter of Olivia. Mother of Leif. Married to Seth Gunderson. The Gundersons owned The Lighthouse restaurant, recently destroyed by fire. They live at 6 Rainier Drive.

James Lockhart: Olivia’s son and Justine’s younger brother. In the Navy. Lives in San Diego with his wife, Selina, and daughter, Isabella, and son, Adam.

Will Jefferson: Olivia’s brother, Charlotte’s son. Formerly of Atlanta. Divorced, retired and back in Cedar Cove, where he recently bought the local gallery.

Grace Sherman Harding: Olivia’s best friend. Librarian. Widow of Dan Sherman. Mother of Maryellen Bowman and Kelly Jordan. Married to Cliff Harding, a retired engineer who is now a horse breeder living in Olalla, near Cedar Cove. Grace’s previous address: 204 Rosewood Lane (now a rental property).

Maryellen Bowman: Oldest daughter of Grace and Dan Sherman. Mother of Katie and Drake. Married to Jon Bowman, photographer.

Zachary Cox: Accountant, married to Rosie. Father of Allison and Eddie Cox. The family lives at 311 Pelican Court. Allison is attending university in Seattle, while her boyfriend, Anson Butler, has joined the military.

Rachel Pendergast: Works at the Get Nailed salon. Engaged to widower Bruce Peyton, who has a daughter, Jolene.

Bob and Peggy Beldon: Retired. Own a bed-and-breakfast at 44 Cranberry Point.

Roy McAfee: Private investigator, retired from Seattle police force. Two adult children, Mack and Linnette. Married to Corrie, who works as his office manager. The McAfees live at 50 Harbor Street.

Linnette McAfee: Daughter of Roy and Corrie. Lived in Cedar Cove and worked as a physician assistant in the new medical clinic. Leaving for North Dakota. Her brother, Mack, a fireman in training, is moving to Cedar Cove.

Gloria Ashton: Sheriff’s deputy in Cedar Cove. Biological daughter of Roy and Corrie McAfee.

Troy Davis: Cedar Cove sheriff. Married to Sandy, now deceased. Father of Megan.

Faith Beckwith: Troy Davis’s high-school girlfriend, now a widow. Moving back to Cedar Cove.

Bobby Polgar and Teri Miller Polgar: He is an international chess champion; she’s a hair stylist at Get Nailed. Their home is at 74 Seaside Avenue.

Christie Levitt: Sister of Teri Polgar, living in Cedar Cove.

James Wilbur: Bobby Polgar’s driver.

Pastor Dave Flemming: Local Methodist minister. He and his wife, Emily, are the parents of Matthew and Mark.

Shirley Bliss: Widow and fabric artist, mother of Tannith (Tanni) Bliss.

Shaw Wilson: Friend of Anson Butler, Allison Cox and Tanni Bliss.




One


They say the wife is always the last to know.

Except that Emily Flemming did know and she’d known for more than a week. Dave, her husband, was involved with someone else. Only Dave wasn’t just Dave Flemming. He was Pastor Dave Flemming. The thought that her husband loved another woman was intolerable, unthinkable, unbearable. Dave’s betrayal was bad enough, but disregarding his moral obligations to his congregation and his God—she could hardly believe it. This shocking secret was completely inconsistent with everything she knew about her husband.

Ever since the night of their anniversary dinner, Emily had carefully guarded what she’d learned. She’d been in the church office, waiting for Dave, and had reached for his suit jacket, which hung on the back of his door. When she draped it over her arm, a diamond earring had fallen out of the pocket. Later she’d discovered the second one in the other pocket. Emily had certainly never owned anything as extravagant as this pair of large, diamond-studded pendant earrings.

In the beginning Emily had assumed the earrings were an anniversary present; however, she quickly realized they couldn’t be. For one thing, they weren’t in a jeweler’s box. But even if they had been, it wasn’t possible. Dave could never have afforded diamond earrings on their tight family budget.

Emily should have asked immediately … and hadn’t. She’d been afraid of ruining their special evening with her suspicions. But almost at once, other details had begun to add up in her mind. She could no longer ignore the fact that Dave so often worked late, especially since the private hour they’d shared after dinner had gone by the wayside. It might’ve been her imagination but he seemed to take extra long with his grooming, too.

Her suspicions doubled and tripled. She held them close to her heart, examining them over and over, trying to make sense of her husband’s behavior. Whenever she asked where he’d been, Dave’s answers were vague. Another warning sign …

“Mommy, when’s Daddy coming home?” Mark, the younger of her two sons, asked as he looked up from his plate. He was eight and his dark brown eyes were identical to his father’s.

Emily had the same question. “Soon,” she said as reassuringly as she could. Two or three times a week, Dave didn’t get home until well after dinner. At first she’d made excuses for him to their boys. Now she didn’t know what to tell them.

“Dad hardly ever eats with us,” Matthew complained, sitting down next to his younger brother.

Dave’s lateness had started gradually. He used to make a point of being there for the evening meal. As she stared into space, Emily couldn’t help wondering if he was having dinner with some other woman … some other family. She chased away the thought with a determination that stiffened her spine.

For the sake of her children, Emily dragged out her standard excuse. “Your father’s been busy at the church.”

“Every night?”

Her sons echoed Emily’s own dissatisfaction. “It seems so,” she returned lightly, pretending all was well as she joined them at the dinner table. They automatically clasped hands and bowed their heads while Emily recited grace. Silently she added a prayer for herself, asking for courage to face whatever the future might hold for her marriage.

“Shouldn’t we wait for him at least one night?” Mark said as he reluctantly picked up his fork.

“You two have homework, don’t you?” she asked, ignoring his question.

“But Dad—”

“Your father will eat later.”

“Will he get home before we go to bed?” Matthew, her sensitive son, asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, swallowing hard.

She made a pretense of eating. Her appetite had disappeared the minute she’d found those diamond earrings. That was the start—the wake-up call she’d ignored for months. Naturally, she’d told herself, there could be any number of explanations for those earrings. She’d intended to ask him about it the very next day … and hadn’t.

Emily knew what held her back. She didn’t want to hear the truth; she simply wasn’t ready for it. She dreaded the consequences once she did finally confront him.

She’d questioned her husband, more than once, about his late nights. But Dave brushed aside her concern and offered ambiguous excuses, mentioning people she’d never met and meetings she didn’t know about. He almost seemed to resent her asking, so after a while she’d stopped.

She supposed she had her answer. Since the discovery of the diamond earrings, she had a perfectly clear picture of what was happening—what had already happened. Sadly, pastors were as susceptible to temptation as anyone else. Like all sinners, they, too, could be lured into affairs. They, too, could make irreparable mistakes.

If Emily had hoped this was just a misunderstanding, that she’d allowed it to grow out of all proportion in her mind, those hopes had been destroyed. Earlier in the week, she’d run into Bob and Peggy Beldon at the grocery store. They owned the local bed-and-breakfast, Thyme and Tide. As the three of them stood in the middle of the aisle exchanging pleasantries, Bob casually said that he missed playing golf with Dave.

As long as the weather permitted, the two of them had played weekly for the past three years. In a matter of minutes, she’d ferreted out the information she’d been afraid to learn. Dave had given up golfing more than a year ago. A year! Yet every week last summer, he’d loaded up his golf clubs on Monday afternoons and driven off, supposedly to meet Bob. Obviously he’d been meeting someone else.

Emily sighed. She couldn’t continue to let her mind wander down this well-traveled path of doubt and suspicion. Half the time she acted the role of the quiet, unassuming wife; the rest of the time it was all she could do to refrain from demanding an explanation. She wanted the truth no matter how painful it might be—and yet she didn’t. What wife ever did?

So far she’d remained silent. She was astonished by how good she’d become at pretending everything was fine. None of her friends suspected. What bothered her almost as much as her suspicions was the fact that Dave didn’t seem to have any idea that she’d caught on. She wondered if he’d broach the subject. Maybe if he knew she’d figured out what was going on … Perhaps that was what she’d been waiting for. She wanted him to ask her.

But Dave never asked. If she managed to put on a marvelous performance, then so did her husband. Last Sunday he’d actually spoken from the pulpit about the importance of marriage, of loving one’s spouse.

Emily felt like the most unloved woman in the world. She could barely stop herself from breaking into heart-wrenching sobs right there in front of the entire congregation. Naturally everyone must have assumed she’d been overcome with emotion, since Dave’s sermon, by implication, had honored her. She wanted to tell them that, beautiful though his words were, that was all they were. Words.

It was hard to believe this could be happening to them. Emily had always been so sure they had a solid marriage, and that Dave was her best friend. Apparently she was wrong.

The door leading to the garage opened and to her surprise he walked into the house.

“Dad!” Mark slid out of his chair, running toward his father as if he hadn’t seen him in a year.

“Hey there, little man, how’s it going?” Dave reached down and swung their son into his arms. Mark was too big to be picked up like a child, but he craved the attention from his father.

Dave kissed Emily on the cheek, then ruffled Matthew’s hair before he sat down. “I’m glad I made it home in time for dinner tonight.”

“Me, too,” Mark said, his eyes glowing.

Despite everything, her own happiness sprang to life again, and Emily got up and brought a fourth place setting to the table.

When she passed him the enchilada casserole she’d made, he took a heaping serving, then grinned over at her. “You fixed one of my favorites,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She met his look, letting him know with her eyes how much she loved him. Maybe, regardless of the evidence, all her unhappy suspicions were wrong.

“Can you help me with my homework after dinner, Dad?” Mark asked.

Their younger son was the top student in his class, far ahead of the other second-graders. He didn’t need any assistance. What he really wanted was time with his father.

“You promised to throw me the football, remember?” Matthew said. Never mind that it was late November and already dark outside, He, too, wanted time with Dave. The children weren’t the only ones; Emily needed all the reassurance he had to offer. Hard as she tried to cast aside these doubts, they refused to die. She didn’t want to lose her husband. She loved Dave no matter what and was determined to keep her marriage together—or at least make every possible effort.

“Hold on, hold on.” Dave laughingly raised both hands. “Give me a minute to catch my breath, would you?”

Both boys stared expectantly at their father. Emily couldn’t bear to look at their eager faces. Seeing the love for him in their eyes made her feel like weeping.

“Let your dad eat his dinner,” she said.

“After that, I’ll help you both, but I’d like a few minutes alone with your mother first,” Dave said, glancing at Emily.

A chill raced down her spine, and she was afraid to meet his eyes.

“Aw, Dad,” Mark whined.

“It won’t take long,” he promised. “Eat your green beans.”

“Okay.”

Emily handed Dave the bowl of buttered beans with sliced almonds. He took a small portion. Green beans weren’t his favorite vegetable, either, and this was her way of suggesting he set a good example.

Following dinner, the boys cleared the table, then went to their room for study hour. This had been Dave’s idea. Whether they had homework or not, Matthew and Mark were to spend one hour every night reading, writing or reviewing their schoolwork. The television wasn’t allowed to be on, nor were video games permitted.

As the boys trudged to their room, Emily made a pot of coffee, keeping her back to Dave as she worked. Asking to speak to her like that was unusual for him. If there was something on his mind, he generally discussed it with her after the boys had gone to bed.

Even before she could finish pouring their coffee, Dave asked her, “Are you happy?” His voice was urgent. Intense. The need to know seemed to burn inside him.

Dozens of possible questions had occurred to her, but this was one she hadn’t expected.

“Happy?” she repeated, facing him. Still not meeting his gaze, she carried two steaming mugs of coffee to the table and set them down. “Am I happy?” She shoved her hands in the back pockets of her faded jeans as she contemplated her response.

“I didn’t think it would take you this long to answer,” Dave said. His dark eyes studied her and he seemed disappointed in her hesitation.

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t be happy?” she asked, turning the question back on him. “I live in a beautiful house and I’m able to stay home with the boys the way we both wanted. My husband is madly in love with me, right?” she added, remembering his sermon from the Sunday before—and hoping she didn’t sound even slightly sarcastic. Without giving him the opportunity to answer, perhaps because she feared what he might say, she asked, “What about you, Dave? Are you happy?”

“Of course I am.” His reply was immediate and impassioned.

“Then I am, too.” Rather than join him at the table she started to load the dishwasher.

“Sit down,” he said. “Please.”

Reluctantly she did.

“You haven’t been sleeping well.”

So he’d noticed. She fell asleep easily enough, but an hour or two later she’d be wide awake. Then for the rest of the night she’d toss and turn, sleeping fitfully if at all. The scenarios that played out in her mind wouldn’t allow her to rest. Her husband might be in love with someone else. He might even be cheating on her.

Emily considered herself an emotionally strong woman, one who remained calm in a crisis. A woman others counted on for guidance and support. Yet when it came to confronting her husband with her suspicions, she was a coward.

“If there’s something bothering you, maybe I can help,” he said. She recognized his tone, that caring, concerned voice he so often used with others. Only she wasn’t just one of his parishioners, she was his wife!

“What could possibly be bothering me?” she asked airily. She didn’t expect him to answer.

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. Are the ladies from the missionary society making too many demands?”

“No.” The cookbook committee had wanted her to organize the entire project and she’d told them she simply didn’t have the time, which was true. Apparently there’d been more than a few ruffled feathers. The church family seemed to think that because Emily didn’t work outside the home, she should be at their beck and call, just like Dave. Emily had no intention of becoming an unpaid employee of the church and had made that clear when they accepted the assignment in Cedar Cove. Her role was to support Dave and mother their young sons.

“You’d tell me if you were upset, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course,” she said, hoping the act of sipping coffee would hide her lie.

Mark stuck his head inside the kitchen. “Are you finished talking to Mom yet?” he asked his father. “I need help with my math.”

Dave looked at her.

“I’m fine,” she said emphatically.

He seemed to doubt her. She wasn’t expert at lying and hated the fact that she was afraid to voice her concerns. Dave took a sip of his coffee and stood. “All right, Mark, show me what’s giving you trouble.”

Emily watched her husband and son walk out of the kitchen and swallowed painfully. She’d been waiting for him to ask her a question like that. Are you happy? It was the perfect opportunity to address her suspicions—but she’d been too frightened to say anything.

The problem, she told herself, was that she wasn’t prepared. For her own protection, she needed facts and details before she confronted him. He needed to realize she wasn’t as naive as he obviously thought.

By nine that evening both boys were in bed and asleep. When Dave was home, getting her sons ready for the night was invariably a smooth, easy process. But anytime she was alone with them—which was most nights lately—they came up with a multitude of excuses to delay going to bed.

Half an hour later, she was in her sewing room, working on a quilt for Matthew. She ironed the fabric squares, pleased with her bargain. Always conscious of cost, she’d bought the material, a bright cotton print, on sale at The Quilted Giraffe. As she turned off the iron she heard Dave come in. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. “Alone at last,” he whispered, kissing the side of her neck, his lips lingering there.

Emily smiled; she couldn’t resist. This was how they used to be, spontaneously affectionate and teasing, until … She wasn’t sure when things had begun to change. Earlier this year? “Oh, Dave, honestly.” She gave a small laugh.

“I love my wife,” he murmured.

She placed her hands on his, her fingers squeezing hard. “Do you, Dave?” She winced at the pleading quality that crept into her voice.

“With all my heart.” He dropped one final kiss on her neck, then walked to the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I thought I’d work on Sunday’s sermon.”

“Oh.” He used to write his sermons at the church office. Emily waited until he’d left the sewing room before she turned from the ironing board and stood in the doorway. She watched Dave go down the hallway to his small den; without looking in her direction, he closed the door.

Until recently his door had always remained open. To the best of her knowledge he’d never done this before. Slowly, she returned to her quilting, but she could no longer concentrate. She wanted to know why her husband suddenly found it necessary to shut the door.

He must have a reason. Of course—he was probably making a phone call. One he didn’t want her to overhear. She waited an hour to be sure he was off the phone, then made an excuse to step into his office by bringing him a fresh cup of coffee.

She knocked on the door and walked inside before he could respond. As she’d expected, he sat at his desk with his Bible open and a yellow legal pad in front of him, making notes.

“I brought you coffee,” she said.

“How thoughtful. Thank you, sweetheart.”

“You’re welcome.” Setting it on the coaster, a ceramic tile Matthew had painted in first grade, Emily slipped out of the room. She closed the door quietly behind her.

Inhaling a deep breath, she went to the kitchen phone and hit the redial button. It rang three times before a woman with a soft, husky, thoroughly sexy voice answered.

“Is that you again, Davey?”

Davey?

“Oops, sorry,” Emily said gruffly and replaced the receiver.

So she’d had him pegged, after all. Dave had placed a phone call to another woman. In their own home! He’d boldly contacted the woman who threatened to tear Emily’s marriage apart. Her trembling hand still clutched the receiver. Knowing she was right didn’t bring her any satisfaction—not that she’d thought it would.




Two


“Hi, Daddy.” A smiling Megan opened the front door and kissed Sheriff Troy Davis on the cheek.

“Hi, baby, how’re you feeling?” Troy followed his daughter into the kitchen, hoping his question didn’t sound too anxious. He couldn’t help it, though. Megan had recently been tested for multiple sclerosis, the same disease that had claimed his wife, Sandy, several months before. Their small family was close, and the mere thought that his daughter, Troy’s only child, would suffer the same debilitating disease as her mother terrified him. Megan had miscarried her first pregnancy a few months ago, and that loss, on top of her mother’s death, had devastated her. And now this constant threat …

“Would you stop,” Megan chided as she walked over to the stove and turned down the burner. Something smelled good—the aroma of a home-cooked meal tantalized him and he wondered what he’d make for his own dinner. Chili out of a can, probably. If he still had any. “The tests showed nothing conclusive,” she was saying, “so there’s no reason to worry.”

Yet, Troy added to himself.

He didn’t want to smother her with unwanted concern and unwarranted fears, but he needed to know that she was successfully dealing with the possibility of MS, that she could cope with everything it meant. The medical world was divided as to whether or not multiple sclerosis was hereditary. So far, there was evidence supporting both beliefs.

To complicate matters, an absolute diagnosis was often difficult. In Megan’s case the results had been inconclusive just as she’d said. In one sense that felt like a reprieve; in another, it seemed as if they were still waiting for what appeared to be inevitable. He reminded himself not to borrow trouble. That expression echoed with a hint of foreboding, since it had been a favorite of Sandy’s.

Troy was proud of Megan’s newfound serenity, the way she calmly accepted the uncertainty of her situation. That was a hard-won acceptance, he knew, and he attributed a lot of it to her husband.

Thankfully, she’d chosen her life partner well. Craig was a quiet, good-humored man who loved Troy’s daughter and was completely devoted to her, the same way Troy had been to Sandy.

“I came over to ask what I can bring for Thanksgiving dinner,” Troy said. That was a convenient excuse to stop by without being too obvious about checking up on Megan—although Craig and Megan no doubt saw through him quickly enough.

“Hey, Troy.” Craig stepped into the kitchen, holding the Cedar Cove Chronicle in one hand. “Hard to believe Thanksgiving’s this week, isn’t it?” He shook his head. “Look at this—more ads than news.”

Megan chuckled and waved them both out of the kitchen. “Quit whining, you two! Next thing I know, you’ll be complaining about how commercial Christmas is.”

“Christmas!” Craig groaned and winked at Troy.

Like her mother, Megan loved everything about Christmas. The leftovers from Thanksgiving dinner would hardly be put away before Megan would start decorating for the holidays. That involved Craig and Troy hanging strands of Christmas bulbs around the outside of the house and arranging the lighted deer in the front yard.

“Let me set a place for you,” Megan said, moving toward the cupboard. “We’re having porcupine meatballs and a green salad.”

Troy was tempted. The recipe—meatballs filled with rice and then cooked in tomato soup and served over mashed potatoes—was a family favorite from the time Megan had been a little girl. The salad he could take or leave.

“Thanks but no thanks, honey.” Despite the enticing smells, Troy had no intention of intruding on his daughter and her husband. “Like I said, I just came by to ask what I can contribute to Thursday’s dinner.”

Megan paused as though mentally reviewing the menu. “I think I’ve got everything under control,” she told him. “We’re having turkey, of course, and I’m using Mom’s rice-and-sausage recipe for the stuffing. Then I’mmaking a couple of salads and that sweet potato-and-dried-apricot recipe I tried last year that everyone liked so well.”

Last year.

Just twelve months earlier Sandy had been alive; she’d spent Thanksgiving with them. It seemed impossible that she was really gone. They’d brought her from the chronic care facility, setting her wheelchair at the table, helping her eat.

One year, and so much had changed. Troy had buried Sandy and then, a short while later, reconnected with Faith Beckwith. The thought of his high school girlfriend brought with it a rush of sadness. They’d become a couple again earlier that summer, he and Faith, and everything had looked promising—until Megan’s miscarriage.

When his daughter had learned Troy was dating someone, she’d been shocked. More than shocked. Hurt and angry. She knew nothing about Faith, not even her name, but in her emotionally volatile state, she couldn’t tolerate the idea of her father seeing another woman. Troy loved his daughter and couldn’t risk alienating her. The night she’d lost the baby, he’d been with Faith. Not wanting a call from Megan to interfere with his evening, he’d turned off his cell phone, an act he’d lived to regret again and again.

With the possibility that Megan might have MS, Troy had made the painful decision to sever his relationship with Faith. He missed her, missed their long telephone conversations, missed spending time with her. There was no alternative, though. Painful as it was to accept, Faith was out of his life.

Ironically, in a recent conversation Megan had implied that it was time he moved on with his life. Troy wished he could believe she meant it, but he was afraid to put too much credence in her words. Yes, she’d attained a new maturity and had reconciled herself to—maybe—living with MS. But her reaction when she’d found out he was seeing someone indicated all too clearly that his daughter was nowhere near ready for him to begin a new relationship. A woman in his life, a woman other than Sandy, seemed a betrayal of her mother’s memory. So, even though Megan was now saying what he wanted to hear, he’d reluctantly decided he couldn’t act on it.

However, whether she truly approved of the idea or not, Megan wasn’t the only one who’d mentioned that he should start dating. A deputy friend of his had suggested setting him up with his mother-in-law—Sally Something. Troy had absolutely no interest in a blind date. The only woman he wanted to see was Faith, and he’d ruined any chance of that.

“Last year,” Megan repeated slowly, breaking into his thoughts. “Mom was here …” The realization that Sandy had been with them for Thanksgiving had obviously just struck her. “Mom always loved the holidays, didn’t she?”

Troy nodded. Despite her physical limitations, Sandy had cherished family traditions and done her utmost to be part of them. He found comfort in the fact that his daughter was continuing where her mother had left off.

“You’re serving mashed potatoes and gravy, too, aren’t you?” He used the question as a diversionary tactic to turn their thoughts from Sandy.

“Of course!”

“What about pies?”

“Pumpkin and pecan. Oh, and I have a small surprise to go with dinner.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

Megan’s eyes sparkled with delight. “I have one jar of the sweet pickles Mom and I made the summer before last. I was saving them for a special occasion.”

Sandy hadn’t been able to do any of the work, but Megan had brought her mother from the care facility to Troy’s house. Together, they’d spent the day canning cucumbers, Sandy giving directions and advice, the two of them laughing often. That afternoon had been one of the best of the entire year for his wife. Sandy had treasured the time with Megan and loved being back in her own home, albeit briefly.

“Your mother will be with us, whether or not we have those sweet pickles,” Troy said.

“I know.” Megan shrugged helplessly. “It’s just that …”

Rather than watch his daughter get emotional, he said, “How about if I bring the dinner rolls on Thursday? And a bottle of wine.”

Megan seemed to struggle with her composure for a moment, then smiled. “Perfect.”

Troy left a few minutes later. The evening stretched before him, long and empty. Instead of going home immediately, he drove to the local Safeway store, still wearing his uniform. He needed a few groceries and since he was already there, he might as well pick up the wine and dinner rolls he’d promised Megan.

Troy reached for a cart and wheeled it toward the vegetable aisle, starting in the same part of the store Sandy always had. He wasn’t sure why he bothered to purchase anything fresh, because all it did was rot in his refrigerator. He was checking out the bananas when he saw her.

Faith.

He stopped abruptly and stared at her. It’d been two weeks since they’d spoken. That conversation had been among the most uncomfortable of his life. When she’d answered the phone, she’d been so excited to hear his voice. She’d told him her Seattle house had sold; before he could say anything else, she’d announced that she was moving to Cedar Cove. She’d said this with such joy and enthusiasm, expecting him to be just as pleased. And then he’d told her he wouldn’t be seeing her again.

Even now he could clearly recall her pain. It haunted his sleep. He remembered how calmly Faith had listened as he haltingly explained about Megan. She hadn’t raised her voice or argued. In the end, she’d wished him well.

At that moment, Faith glanced up and saw him standing not more than two feet away. Her reaction was the same as his—she went completely still as their eyes met over the large pile of bananas.

Troy was good at reading faces. Her initial reaction was shock, followed by a flicker of undiluted misery. Both emotions were quickly gone as she visibly took a breath and schooled her expression.

“Hello, Troy,” she said pleasantly.

“Faith.” He inclined his head slightly and wondered if she heard the regret in his voice.

Looking at her cart, he was surprised to see it filled with essential items—flour, sugar, coffee, milk, some fruit and vegetables. That suggested she was already living in Cedar Cove. He knew she’d sold her home, but he’d assumed it would be months before he’d see her again—months during which he could prepare for her presence in his town. He certainly wasn’t mentally or emotionally ready for a face-to-face encounter so soon after their break-up.

“You’ve left Seattle?” he asked.

“I told you my house sold.”

“Yes, you did, but …” He couldn’t make his tongue cooperate. He was about to argue, to tell her this wasn’t fair. However, when it came to being fair, he didn’t have a lot of ground to stand on. He’d treated her badly.

His reaction apparently made her want to explain. “One of the stipulations was that the closing would be before the end of November, preferably before Thanksgiving.”

“You mean you’re living in town now?”

“I … yes.” She seemed as uncomfortable as he was. “I just never thought I’d run into you so soon—my very first day. I’d hoped …” She let the rest fade.

Troy knew exactly what she meant. He’d hoped, too. Hoped they wouldn’t see each other for a long time, because the pain of losing her, the disappointment of it, would be hard to conceal. Especially since he’d brought it on himself.

They had a history; they’d been high school sweethearts and then Troy had gone into the service after graduation to avoid being drafted for Vietnam, since joining voluntarily gave him options. He’d chosen to become an MP, which led directly to his career in law enforcement when he was discharged. He’d planned to propose to Faith once he’d completed his basic training. Unbeknownst to them, Faith’s mother had thwarted the relationship by withholding Troy’s letters. Mrs. Carroll had decided they were too young to be so seriously involved.

Troy had gone on to meet Sandy later that summer, and Faith had left for college and met her future husband. Nearly forty years had passed before they reconnected—only to be separated by circumstances once again. Except that this time it wasn’t Faith’s mother but Megan who’d come between them.

“I saw Grace Sherman,” Faith murmured, breaking eye contact.

“It’s Harding now.”

Faith nodded. “That’s right. She’s remarried. And I met Cliff. They’ve both been a great help. I simply haven’t had time to look for a place to buy, and I didn’t want to make a hasty decision I’d later regret.”

“Of course.” He wasn’t sure if that was an oblique comment on their relationship.

Speaking quickly, she said, “I was visiting my son and his family last week. Scottie read the classifieds in the paper, and he mentioned the rental house on Rosewood Lane.” She took a deep breath. “A day or so after that, I ran into Grace. I’d taken my grandchildren to the movies, and Grace and Olivia were just coming out. When I told them I was moving to Cedar Cove, Grace said her rental house had recently become vacant. It turned out to be the same place.”

Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Troy grinned.

Faith frowned, obviously puzzled by the fact that he was smiling.

Troy felt obliged to tell her why. “Grace had bad renters, deadbeats who trashed the place, and it looked like it might take months to get them out legally.”

“I didn’t know that. So … what happened?”

“Cliff and Olivia’s husband, Jack Griffin, used a … rather inventive means of convincing them to move—that same night.”

“So that’s why the walls have all been freshly painted,” she said. He saw her fingers tighten around the cart handle and suspected she was about to leave.

Regardless of his own discomfort, Troy didn’t want her to go. He’d missed her even more than he dared to admit. Seeing her unexpectedly was simultaneously agonizing and exhilarating, like warming frostbitten fingers before a fire.

“You’re shopping for Thanksgiving?” he asked, gesturing at the contents of her cart, which included sweet potatoes and a bag of fresh cranberries.

She picked up a small bunch of bananas and added them to her groceries. “No. I’m buying a few things to stock my cupboards and my fridge. My daughter and daughter-in-law are at the house now, unpacking. I didn’t intend to be gone long.”

He should let her go, he realized, nodding mutely.

“Nice seeing you,” she said, but she was obviously just being polite.

She took a few steps, nudging her cart, then hesitated. “Listen, Troy, I don’t want you to worry.”

“Worry?” Was she talking about Megan? He’d made a point of not bringing up the subject of his daughter and was grateful that Faith hadn’t asked.

“I don’t plan to make a habit of running into you. I’m sure you feel the same way.”

“This was purely coincidental.” It wasn’t like he’d followed her into the store.

“I know. But I’ll do my shopping when you’re at work, and I doubt we’ll frequent the same places.” She threw back her shoulders as if that was her last word on the subject.

He managed a faint smile. “Good to see you again, Faith.”

“You, too, Troy.” Her steps were purposeful as she moved past him with her cart.

Troy watched her go, trying not to stare, forcing himself not to rush after her.

With a determined effort, he continued down the produce aisle and hurried through the rest of the store, collecting what he needed. Bananas. Paper towels. Cans of soup and chili, a couple of frozen entrées. Dinner rolls and wine for Thursday. When he’d finished, he pushed his cart over to the checkout.

As luck would have it, Faith was at the counter beside his, waiting her turn. He felt guilty glancing in her direction but caught her looking at him, too.

Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore. He stepped away from his cart and toward her. “Listen, Faith, let’s talk.”

Her eyes widened.

“Let’s go for coffee, all right? If now isn’t convenient, then perhaps tomorrow. If you prefer to do it after Thanks giving, that would be fine, too.” He hadn’t figured out what he’d say to her, but he’d come up with something. At least he could sit there and look at her.

He could tell immediately that Faith didn’t share his enthusiasm. “Thank you, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She was right, of course. In retrospect it was perfectly idiotic. He was asking her to see him on the sly, and that must have seemed contemptible to her. But much as he wanted to spend time with Faith, Megan could never know. His motives were entirely selfish.

His suggestion might not have been very honorable, and yet if he wanted to see her, there was no other option.

He loved Faith. He was convinced she loved him, too. However, she wasn’t going to let him into her life a third time when he’d already broken her heart twice.

Troy couldn’t blame her.

“Have a nice holiday, Faith.”

“You, too,” she whispered with a catch in her voice.

Troy paid for his purchases and carried the bags out to his vehicle. If it hadn’t been completely clear before, it was now—he’d lost any chance he’d ever had with Faith.




Three


Tannith Bliss didn’t want to attend the Thanksgiving bonfire at the high school on Wednesday evening. She hated school. The only reason she’d agreed to go was to get her mother off her back. Anything was better than staying home and pretending their lives were normal.

Nothing would ever be normal again. Sometimes her mother acted like her dad hadn’t died, like he might walk through the door any second, and that upset Tanni. A lot. She didn’t understand why her mother was working so hard to make this stupid Thanksgiving dinner. It was senseless to bother with turkey and dressing and all that stuff when it would only be the three of them.

Thanksgiving was just the start of it. Soon it would be Christmas and that was another nightmare in the making. Their first Christmas without Dad.

She was late, so the school parking lot was already full. Tanni didn’t know why she was even looking for a space. Wishful thinking, she supposed. The only place left was on the street and she was fortunate to find that. With her hands deep in the pockets of her full-length black coat, she hunched her shoulders against the bitter wind and trudged up the hill toward the football field.

As she neared the fence she could hear the laughter and the shouting. This was going to be even worse than she’d thought.

“Tanni, over here!” Kara Nobles called when Tanni reached the field.

She acted as if she hadn’t heard. Kara was one of those bright, bouncy girls Tanni found annoying. Keeping her head lowered, she weaved through the crowd and walked to the opposite side of the field, as far away from anyone who might recognize her as she could get. No one else acknowledged her, which suited her just fine.

A goth group stood close by. Tanni wasn’t one of them. She dressed in black most of the time simply because she liked black. It matched her mood and her disposition. She was in mourning, after all. Her mother might want to pretend but Tanni didn’t. Her father was dead. He wasn’t going to come home the way he used to at the end of a flight, hug them all and bring her small gifts. Everyone else in their family might want to forget Dad, but not her.

Standing by herself, Tanni stared into the fire. The flames were mesmerizing as they crackled and sizzled, thrusting orange-and-yellow tongues toward the night sky.

One of the guys from the goth crowd separated from the group and walked in her direction. She didn’t want to look at him for fear that would encourage conversation. Still, she gave him a brief surreptitious glance but didn’t recognize him. That didn’t mean much, since Tanni tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible. She didn’t want or need anyone’s attention. If she could’ve found a way to get out of school altogether, she would gladly have taken it. All she wanted was to be left alone.

The boy didn’t say anything. If he’d spoken a single word, she would’ve told him to go away.

Instead he just stood there, silent as a rock.

She glared at him.

He ignored her.

“Hey, Shaw, you gotta see this,” one of the other goths shouted.

This was Shaw Wilson? Tanni had heard plenty about him. He wasn’t a student at Cedar Cove High anymore. Rumor had it that he’d never graduated. He hung around town and drove a blue Ford station wagon that everyone seemed to think was cool. The little Tanni knew about Shaw she liked.

The whole school had taken sides when Anson Butler was accused of starting the fire at The Lighthouse Restaurant two years ago, when Tanni was a freshman. The arson had been the main topic of conversation for months.

Shaw was Anson’s best friend; he’d defended him no matter what anyone said. Allison Cox had, too, since she was Anson’s girlfriend.

Later, when it turned out that Anson was innocent and some crooked builder had been responsible for the fire, most of the kids said they’d believed Anson from the get-go. Yeah, right. The same people who were ready to hang Anson out to dry were now claiming to be his close personal friends.

Other than Allison, the only person who’d been loyal from the very beginning was Shaw. He’d been the one real friend Anson had, and if no one else remembered that, Tanni did. She valued that kind of loyalty and hoped Anson appreciated everything Shaw had endured on his behalf.

“You’re Shaw?” she asked, looking directly at him.

“Yeah. You’re Tanni, right? Tanni Bliss.”

She nodded. Trying not to be obvious, she stepped closer to Shaw.

“I’ve seen you around,” he said. Like her, he kept his hands buried in his coat pockets.

“I’ve seen you around” was another way of saying he’d noticed her. Despite everything, Tanni felt pleased. If she had to be noticed, she wanted it to be by someone like this.

“Why aren’t you with your friends?” he asked.

She shrugged rather than explain that she didn’t really have friends. Okay, she had a few sort-of friends, Kara for one, but she didn’t consider any of them good friends. Her old pals had drifted away after her father died in a motorcycle accident. Well, actually she’d pushed them out of her life because most of them seemed to think there was a prescribed amount of time to grieve and then she was supposed to snap out of it. It hadn’t even been a year. But apparently Tanni was taking longer than they deemed necessary.

One so-called friend had said she should just “get over it.” The thing was, Tanni didn’t want to get over losing her father. She wanted to cling to every precious memory, remember every detail she could.

“I saw your pencil drawing,” Shaw said, breaking into her thoughts. “You’re good.”

“Thanks.” His words flustered her. The graveyard sketch had been a project her art teacher had praised. Without Tanni’s knowing it, Mrs. White had entered the sketch in a local competition. Then, at some art fair sponsored by the community, Tanni had been awarded top prize. She didn’t really care. The attention embarrassed her. Besides, her mother was a fabric artist who sold her stuff at the local art gallery, and Tanni was afraid that some friend of hers might have been a judge and given her the prize out of pity. She didn’t need pity. What she needed was her father.

Not only that, Tanni preferred to avoid being identified with her mother. They’d never gotten along well, and it was worse now than ever. The last thing she wanted was any comparison between her art and that of the great Shirley Bliss.

“I draw, too,” Shaw said. He must have regretted saying anything, because he added, “My drawings aren’t nearly as good as yours, though.”

Tanni didn’t comment. Drawing came easily to her; it always had. Some people were smart at algebra and others struggled with it. Drawing happened to be her particular skill—and her escape.

She could sit in class, any class, and act as if she was taking copious notes when in reality she was making little sketches. Doodles—geometric and circular designs—and tiny portraits of the people around her. Trees and flowers and horses and dogs. She’d filled notebook after notebook with these drawings. No one had ever seen them, not even her mother. Especially not her mother. If her dad was alive, she might’ve shown him, but no one else. Shortly after her father died, she’d destroyed a bunch of those notebooks in an act of grief and rage.

“Hey, Shaw, you comin’ or not?”

Shaw glanced over his shoulder and then at her. “See you, Tanni.”

“Sure.” As he started to leave, Tanni realized she didn’t want him to go. “How’s Anson?” she asked quickly.

Shaw hesitated, then turned back with a shrug. “He’s okay.”

“I heard he’s working with Army Intelligence.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s impressive. What about Allison?”

“She’ll be around this week. You know she’s going to the University of Washington, don’t you? In Seattle.”

“Yeah.” Tanni’s brother was coming home from college, too, and their mother was making a big fuss about that. Still, Tanni would be glad to see Nick. He was supposed to arrive this evening, driving over from Washington State University in Pullman. By the time Tanni got back to the house, Nick would probably be there.

She missed her brother, although she’d never expected to. They used to fight constantly, but after the accident they’d established a fragile peace while they dealt with the upheaval in all their lives. Nick was the one person she talked to about her dad, the only person who felt the way she did.

Shaw took one step toward her. “I was thinking, you know, if you want, I could show you some of my drawings.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Cool.”

“When?” she asked.

“You doing anything after the bonfire?”

It wasn’t like she had to check her social calendar. “Not really.”

“I could meet you at Mocha Mama’s in an hour.”

Tanni looked at her watch. Mocha Mama’s was new in town. She hadn’t been inside yet but she knew where it was. “Okay.”

He smiled at her and she smiled back. Despite the cold wind, she felt a rush of warmth that didn’t come from the blazing fire.

After a few minutes, Shaw and his goth friends took off. Tanni watched the bonfire for another twenty minutes. Her mood had improved since she’d talked to Shaw, so she walked over to where Kara stood with a group of friends.

Tanni wasn’t sure why she hung out with Kara at all. Kara and the others were cheerleader types, although none of them was likely to make it onto any squad. They weren’t really part of the popular crowd. But then, neither was Tanni.

Half an hour later, she parked in front of Mocha Mama’s on Harbor Street. She entered the café, looking around with interest. The decor was typical coffeehouse, with lots of dark wood and old-fashioned lamps. There were only a few other customers—a couple engrossed in their conversation, heads close together, and two older men. Shaw sat at one of the half-dozen tables positioned near the window, nursing a cup of coffee. He’d dyed his hair black but his blond roots were showing. He used to wear it spiked, but he didn’t anymore. While attending Cedar Cove High he’d sometimes worn dark, garish makeup; he didn’t do that anymore, either.

He raised his head as she approached the table. “Want anything?” he asked.

She did if he was buying. “Coffee, I guess.”

He stood and walked over to the counter and brought her back a steaming mug. “It’s on the house.”

“Thanks.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Why? Do you work here?”

“Yeah. If you ever want a frappachino or anything, let me know.”

Shaw didn’t look like the barista type. “How long have you worked here?” she asked. The coffee he’d brought her was black, like his, but she decided not to add sugar or cream.

“Since it opened. My aunt and uncle own the place. I manage it for them.”

“Cool.”

Shaw pulled a sketchbook out of his backpack, which rested on the floor next to the window. “My work’s pretty amateurish compared with yours.”

Tanni hated it when people said that. They demeaned their own efforts because she was supposedly so talented.

She sipped her coffee as she started flipping through the pages of his sketchbook. The first bitter taste warmed her instantly. She studied each page. Shaw had talent, although the first few sketches, done in charcoal, were dark and weird. Buildings that had collapsed, blighted landscapes, a battlefield.

Suddenly Tanni turned a page and came across a field of blooming yellow tulips against the backdrop of a blue spring sky. The piece was done in pastels, so she was careful not to smudge it. She was surprised by the abrupt change in subject matter.

“I was up in the Skagit Valley,” he said.

Tanni felt his scrutiny. He seemed to be waiting for her to comment.

“Well?” he pressed. “What do you think?”

“What do you think?” she asked him.

“Me?”

“It’s your work. Do you like it or not?”

He didn’t seem to know what to say.

“This,” she said, shoving the sketchbook across the table. “The one you did after seeing the Skagit Valley. What did you feel while you were working on it?”

“Peace,” he said after a moment.

“This?” She flipped the page back to the previous one, done in charcoal, a picture of the cratered devastation after an earthquake.

Shaw raised his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” She wasn’t going to let him sidestep the question. “You wouldn’t have drawn it if you weren’t feeling something.”

“Anger, all right?” he said with barely controlled emotion. “My mother told me she didn’t want me drawing those kinds of pictures in the house. That made me mad. I hate being censored, as if I’m only allowed to have the thoughts and emotions she thinks are okay.”

“I feel it,” she murmured, studying the picture again.

“You feel what?”

She raised her head, meeting his gaze. “Your anger.”

He frowned.

“That’s the true sign of an artist. If I can feel what you did while you were creating this sketch, then it’s good. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You’ve got to believe in yourself, Shaw. No one else will if you don’t.” It was as simple to Tanni as that. She and her father had often discussed art, even though he wasn’t the artist; her mother was. He’d told her that craft and technique were important but they were a means to an end, which was the expression of emotion. It could be a reaction to something outside the artist, but it had to express what the artist felt about the scene or person or situation.

“Did you feel the peace?” he asked eagerly, turning the page back to the yellow tulips.

She stared at the tulip picture a long time and then answered truthfully. “Not really.”

It obviously wasn’t the response he’d expected. For a few seconds, it looked as if he was going to grab the sketchbook and shove it in his backpack. A moment later, he asked, “Why not?”

“You didn’t have any real feelings when you painted that.”

“I did so!”

“No, you were too concerned about color and shadowing to recognize your feelings about what you were seeing.”

His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know I’d have to get all touchy-feely to be an artist.”

“Art is feelings,” Tanni said. “That’s what it is to me, at any rate.” Her sketches in the past year were the outpouring of her emotions after losing her dad. Her classroom scribblings were about her thoughts and feelings. Wasn’t that the point? As her dad had said, any great piece of art made you feel. It used to annoy her when he used her mother’s quilts and fabric collages as an example, but okay. She knew what he meant.

Shortly after her father’s funeral, her mother had escaped into her workroom and hadn’t come out for days. Tanni knew her mother must have slept some and eaten, too, but she never saw her do either. When Shirley finally emerged, she’d constructed a huge fabric fire-breathing dragon that Tanni had to admit was an incredible piece of art. No one needed to explain to her that the dragon was death. After her creative frenzy, her mother was better—more herself, less frantic. The dragon still hung in her workroom. Few people saw it and Tanni suspected the new owner of the Harbor Street Gallery would love to have it on display if her mother would agree. She wouldn’t—at least, not yet.

“The emotion is what makes your art so good then,” Shaw commented.

“I guess.”

“Do you ever draw people?”

“Sometimes.”

“It’s hard, you know.”

She did. “Is that what you want to draw?”

Shaw leaned back in his chair. “I think so.”

That sounded bogus to her. “You think so? You mean, you’re not sure?”

“Okay, yes. I want to draw people.” He made it seem like a big confession.

“You didn’t show me any of those pictures.”

“No, I—”

“Why not?” Although she asked the question, she already knew. Shaw was afraid her criticism would rob him of the joy he derived from his portrait work.

“Show me one,” she said.

He straightened. “I didn’t bring any.”

“Yes, you did, otherwise you wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

He blinked as if he couldn’t believe she’d read him so easily.

“Let me see.” Tanni wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Shaw stared down at the table. “It’s no good. I did it fast and—”

“I don’t care. I want to see it. Besides, you asked me to look at your art. That’s why I’m here, remember?”

His hand hovered protectively over his backpack.

“Did you feel anything while the pencil was in your hand?”

A hint of what could’ve been a smile flickered in his eyes. “Yeah, I felt something.”

“That’s great.” She waited and when he continued to sit there in silence, she said, “So, are you going to show it to me or not?” She was getting impatient. Either he showed her his real work or she was out of there.

Slowly, reluctantly, Shaw reached inside his bag and withdrew a second sketchbook. He hesitated before he slid it across the table.

Tanni opened it. When her eyes fell on the picture, her breath froze in her lungs.

“It’s me.”

“Yeah … I know.” He spoke in a low, halting voice.

“Tonight, while I was at the bonfire.”

“Yeah.”

In a few quick lines Shaw had captured her defiance and isolation, her anger and pain. Her long straight hair was flung about her face by the wind, half-covering her mouth and her chin. Her posture revealed a combativeness, a sense of lonely struggle. In those simple, economical lines Shaw had revealed her. He’d drawn the essence of her, Tanni Bliss, as she was right now.

Her throat thickened with tears.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

She couldn’t answer him.

“I told you it was no good.”

“Wrong,” she whispered, despite the lump in her throat. “It’s some of the best portrait work I’ve seen.”

Shaw stared at her intently. “You aren’t just saying that, are you?”

She shook her head, regaining her composure. “Nothing I ever did was this good. Besides, I’d never tell you something was good if it wasn’t.”

She could see that pleased him. “Maybe we could get together again,” he suggested.

Tanni nodded. “I’d like that.”

“When?”

“Anytime,” she said softly.

“Tomorrow? Oh, forget that, it’s Thanksgiving and you’re probably tied up with family and stuff.”

“What time?” She didn’t care what day it was; she wanted to be with Shaw.

“You can get away?”

She nodded again.

“Five?”

“I’ll meet you here at five,” she promised.

Shaw stretched his hand across the table and clasped hers. He held on tightly, intertwining her fingers with his own. Perhaps, Tanni thought, she’d found a friend, after all.




Four


Early Thanksgiving morning, Emily Flemming tiptoed into the kitchen, moving as quietly as possible. She didn’t want to disturb her sleeping husband or the boys. As was their tradition, her parents had driven over from Spokane to spend the holiday with her family. She could hear her father snoring in the back bedroom, the sound comforting as she made a pot of coffee.

Soon the house would be bustling with activity. Dave and her father would be watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade on television, while the boys raced around the house and Emily and her mother worked in the kitchen, preparing the twenty-two-pound turkey for the oven. Most likely these few moments of peace were all she’d get. If she was going to pull off today’s dinner without her mother suspecting anything was awry, then Emily would need this time.

She’d always been close to her mother, and it wouldn’t be easy to fool Barbara Lewis. Emily sat at the kitchen table, taking deep calming breaths, trying to control her emotions. Her unopened Bible rested in front of her. She’d begun reading it every morning, seeking and finding solace in Psalms.

The coffeepot gave one last sizzling refrain. She got up and had just reached inside the cupboard for a mug when her mother strolled into the kitchen.

Barbara tied her long housecoat at the waist and covered a yawn. “I thought I heard you up and about. My goodness, what time is it, anyway?”

“It’s early, Mom.”

Barbara frowned at the oven clock. “It isn’t even five!”

“I know.” As it was, Emily had awakened before three, tossing and turning before giving up any hope of going back to sleep.

Her mother sat down. “The coffee smells great. Is it ready?”

“It is.” Emily poured a second mug, added cream to both, and brought them to the table, joining her mother.

After a few sips, Barbara looked directly at Emily, who tried to meet her eyes but couldn’t.

“Something on your mind, Em?” her mother said, eyebrows raised.

Hoping to distract Barbara, she murmured, “I was reviewing our menu. I was thinking we should make a double batch of stuffing this year. Everyone loves leftovers.”

“We could.”

“I made the cranberry salad yesterday before you arrived.” The salad, which was more of a dessert, was a longtime family favorite and served only at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Cranberries, gelatin and whipped topping were stirred together and placed in the freezer.

Seeing that her mother was about to speak, Emily interjected. “Instead of Brussels sprouts this year, I thought I’d make a broccoli casserole. I found a recipe on the Internet that looks absolutely delicious.”

“Em …”

“By my calculations, we should get the turkey in the oven around eight if we want to have dinner on the table by four this afternoon.” Emily knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you or are you going to make me guess?” her mother asked.

Emily closed her eyes, then abandoned the pretense and buried her face in her hands. She wasn’t someone who easily gave way to emotion. If she had been, the tears would’ve flowed nonstop.

Her mother rested her hand on Emily’s forearm. “There’s nothing you can’t tell me. You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course,” she whispered brokenly.

“I knew the minute I walked into the house that things weren’t right. Is it to do with the boys?”

Emily shook her head. “No, they’re fine.” She thanked God for that.

“Dave?” Her mother sounded hesitant, as if she didn’t really believe there could possibly be a problem. Everyone knew Dave Flemming was a good man. He was everything Emily had ever dreamed of finding in a husband—loving, responsible, caring, gentle and so much more. She’d fallen in love with him while they were in college, and her love had grown and matured in the years since. Not once had she even considered looking at another man. She’d been so sure he loved her just as much until recent events gave her cause to wonder.

“He’s working too hard, isn’t he?” Barbara asked.

Emily swallowed. She couldn’t deny that, although not for the reasons her mother assumed. “He’s gone a lot, yes.”

“It’s all those committee meetings, isn’t it?” Barbara pursed her lips. “Church duties can steal away family time if he lets them. He needs to take a stand.”

Emily straightened. “I don’t think that’s it. I …” She could barely utter the words. “I believe … I have reason to think that Dave—” she paused, hardly able to continue “—that he might be involved with another woman.”

Her mother’s eyes widened in shock before she categorically denied the possibility. “Not Dave, Em. He’s simply not the type. I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

“I used to assume that, too,” Emily said flatly. “Do you honestly think this is something I want to believe?”

“Well … no.” Her mother was suddenly speechless, and for Barbara Lewis, that was unusual indeed.

“The evidence had to practically hit me over the head before I recognized it for what it was,” she whispered.

“Who?”

Emily shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know and I don’t want to know.” She’d racked her mind in a futile effort to figure out who it could be. The only person she could remember him spending a lot of time with in the past year was Martha Evans. She was the elderly widow who’d died in September. Dave had gone to visit her every week. Visiting the sick and bedridden was one of his pastoral duties, of course, but he’d told her Martha was a friend, that they’d grown especially close.

Now that she thought about it, perhaps he hadn’t been with Martha all those times. Visiting Martha might’ve been a convenient excuse Dave had given her and others. Maybe he’d spent those afternoons—not to mention all the evenings he’d come home late—with someone else.

“The truth is I have no idea who it might be,” Emily confessed miserably, remembering the woman’s voice on the phone Monday night.

“Wait.” Her mother raised one hand, her expression thoughtful. “I’m getting ahead of myself. In the first place, what makes you think Dave’s involved with anyone?”

“He lied to me,” she whispered, keeping her voice low for fear another early riser might overhear.

“Out and out lied?” her mother asked.

Emily considered this. “I suppose it was more a sin of omission.” She explained about her chance meeting with the Beldons, when she’d learned that Dave was no longer meeting Bob for their regular golf game. “There’s plenty of other evidence, too,” she added sadly.

“Such as?”

“We don’t … we haven’t …” It was more than a little embarrassing to discuss her sex life with her mother. “We—you know … haven’t … in over a month.” Prior to this point, they’d enjoyed a satisfying sexual relationship. Emily missed her husband in every way. On the few nights he was home early, Dave was often asleep by the time she got into bed. The nights she went to bed first, he crept silently into the room and slid between the sheets, doing his best not to wake her. Only Emily wasn’t asleep. It troubled her to realize that if he had reached for her, she didn’t know how she would’ve responded.

“He isn’t as interested in you physically as he once was. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

With her cheeks warming, she nodded.

“Have you checked credit card receipts?” her mother suggested.

“No!” First of all, it hadn’t occurred to Emily, and secondly, she might have ended up with information she didn’t want, information she wasn’t ready to face.

“Em, it seems to me that you’ve blown a few minor details out of proportion,” Barbara continued. “That’s what happens when you keep your doubts buried. Ask him. Dave is your husband. He’ll probably be shocked when he finds out you think he’s got a woman on the side.”

“He’ll say it isn’t true, of course. What good would it do to ask?”

“It’ll clear the air. And his reaction will tell you if you actually have reason to worry.”

Emily had given the subject a great deal of thought. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, confront Dave. If she was right, he’d only deny it—and if she was wrong, her husband would be deeply hurt that she’d accused him of such a fundamental betrayal. As far as she was concerned, it was a lose-lose proposition.

“My guess is that you’ve allowed your suspicions to build up,” Barbara said. “A few unrelated events don’t necessarily equal an affair.”

“But, Mom—”

“I know Dave. It just isn’t in him to do this.”

Emily so badly wanted to believe that, and yet …

“Dave is a terrible liar,” her mother went on. “If something’s going on, I’m sure I’ll pick up on it.”

Emily grinned. True enough, her mother had a nose for anything suspicious. Emily and her brother had gotten away with very little while living under their mother’s watchful eye. “I certainly never managed to hide anything from you.”

“Darn right.” Barbara smiled back. “Now put this out of your mind—at least for today.”

“I’ll try,” Emily promised.

“You have a lot for which to be grateful,” her mother said. “This is your first Thanksgiving in your beautiful new home, and you have every reason to feel loved and cherished by your family. Don’t allow your suspicions to ruin Thanksgiving.”

Emily had to agree. Still … “You’ll tell me if you think something’s wrong with Dave?” she pressed.

“Of course, but I’m positive you’re imagining it. A week from now, you’ll be phoning me, embarrassed you’d ever suspected Dave of anything so out-of-character.”

For the rest of the day, Emily did as her mother had suggested and tried to put the doubts and fears completely out of her mind.

Just after two, Barbara helped her set the table. The formal dining room was one of Emily’s favorite things about this new house. She’d always wanted one. For the first time since she’d been cooking the family’s Thanksgiving dinner, they’d be able to eat someplace besides the kitchen.

She’d worked hard to make the dining room as festive as she could. The mahogany table, chairs and matching hutch came from a second-hand store and had been a real bargain. Emily had loved the dining set the moment she saw it. She’d shown it to Dave, although even secondhand, the price was well out of their range. Later—to her surprise and delight—it had been delivered to the house. Dave told her he’d talked to the dealer, who’d agreed to sell it to them at almost half the asking price.

Looking at it now, she still felt thrilled. She’d used a dark green linen tablecloth and spread an array of colorful maple leaves all around it. Then she’d created a cornucopia for a centerpiece, filling it with yellow, green and orange gourds, as well as miniature pumpkins. Lighted pale green candles provided the final touch.

The table hit exactly the right festive note, she thought. It could’ve appeared in one of those glossy home magazines—and she should know because they were one of the few extravagances she allowed herself. The china had been a wedding gift and was only used once or twice a year, so arranging it on a real dining room table was a special treat.

As she stood back to examine her handiwork, Dave stepped up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You did a beautiful job,” he said, kissing her affectionately.

Her mother smiled at her and then, as Dave turned away, she mouthed, “I told you so.”

Emily rolled her eyes.

Once all the serving dishes were on the table and Dave had carved the turkey, it was nearly four. Everyone was hungry, since lunch had consisted of crackers and cheese.

“I get the wishbone this year,” Matthew called out.

“No, I do,” Mark insisted. Scowling, he protested, “Matthew got it last year.”

“Boys, don’t squabble.” Dave looked sternly in their direction. They both instantly went quiet.

“Shall we say grace?” Dave said.

They all joined hands around the table and bowed their heads as Dave offered up a simple, yet heartfelt prayer of gratitude. When he’d finished, everyone at the table murmured, “Amen.”

“Pass the stuffing,” Matthew said before Emily had even opened her eyes.

“Matthew, the dish will come to you soon enough,” Emily reminded her oldest son. “And it’s please pass the stuffing.”

“The stuffing’s my favorite,” he muttered.

“Mine, too,” Mark said. “I like it with lots of gravy.”

Soon the platter and bowls circled the table and everyone’s plate was heaped with turkey, dressing, two different potato dishes, special salads and more.

When they’d had dessert—the two pies, with whipped cream or ice cream—the family lingered at the table and chatted amicably, teasing one another, joking and sharing stories. This was Emily’s favorite part of the holiday.

“The boys and I will load the dishwasher,” Dave announced as he stood up half an hour later.

Matthew wore a horrified look. “Dad!” he burst out. “Don’t volunteer.”

“Dad!” Even Mark seemed appalled. “There must be a hundred thousand dishes.”

“Then I suggest we get started.”

Both boys groaned.

“Your mother and grandmother spent all day cooking this wonderful meal. It wouldn’t be right to expect them to wash the dishes, too.”

“What about Grandpa?” Mark asked.

“I’ll help,” her father said with a chuckle.

“No, you won’t, Al,” Dave insisted. “You sit back and relax. The boys and I can manage.”

“Dad, you can’t turn down help,” Mark told his father urgently.

“All right, Al, if you’re game, then by all means join us in the kitchen.”

Emily and her mother put away the leftovers, then relaxed in the living room, drinking tea while the men handled the cleaning up.

“Well,” Emily said, looking at her mother. “What do you think?” She didn’t need to elaborate.

Barbara frowned thoughtfully. After a moment she bit her lower lip. “He’s doing a good job of it.”

“Of what?”

“Pretending,” her mother said. “I don’t know what’s going on with Dave, but I feel he’s definitely hiding something.”

The joy Emily had struggled so hard to maintain all that day immediately evaporated. “So you think—”

“No,” her mother said, cutting her off. “I can’t believe it’s another woman. Nevertheless, I’m fairly certain Dave’s keeping some kind of secret from you.”




Five


Christie Levitt sat by herself at the bar in The Pink Poodle, her regular watering hole, and took a sip of her beer. She wasn’t good company tonight. The Friday after Thanksgiving was the biggest shopping day of the year. The retailers called it Black Friday; she did, too, but for different reasons.

Christie had been at her job at the Cedar Cove Wal-Mart before six that morning. It was now 7:00 p.m. She’d spent a long day standing at that cash register and she was tired, not to mention cranky. Larry, the bartender and owner, plus everyone around her, correctly gauged her mood and gave her a wide berth. Fine, she’d rather avoid everyone, including her sister, who was probably mad at her. Christie was a no-show at the big Thanksgiving feast Teri had made yesterday.

Generally Christie was the life of any party. Tonight, however, she had other things on her mind. Although it wasn’t a thing so much as a person.

James Wilbur.

Christie wasn’t sure why this man, with his refined and formal ways, intrigued her. But he did. Her heart seemed to speed up whenever she thought of him, which was far more often than she should.

The two of them had nothing in common. Nothing. James drove the limo for Christie’s sister and brother-in-law. Teri had sent James to pick her up any number of times, and they’d often chatted during the drive. Initially, their conversations had been stilted and, on her part, even hostile. That had begun to change. Then, one night, she’d found a red rose on the seat. Only later did she discover the rose was from James and not her sister.

Men didn’t give her flowers. She wasn’t that kind of woman and she hardly knew how to react when a man did something nice for her. James’s interest terrified her; Teri said it was because Christie didn’t know how to respond to a decent, hardworking man. She was more accustomed to losers, men who stole from her and smacked her around.

Even now she had no idea what had caused this brain malfunction when it came to men. Her genetic makeup must’ve gotten all messed up; it was the only reason Christie could figure. Either that, or a lifetime of bad examples—although Teri had broken the pattern when she met Bobby Polgar. In any event, Christie would meet a man, generally unemployed and down on his luck, which was all too frequently a permanent condition. Substance abuse, whether drugs, alcohol or both, always seemed to be involved as well. These guys would tell her their tales of woe: The world was against them, they’d been cheated by bosses and partners, cheated on by wives and girlfriends—an endless series of sad complaints that, somehow, all sounded the same.

Nonetheless, her heart would ache for them and before she knew how or why, Christie would end up taking responsibility and trying to make everything better. In no time, she’d be head over heels in love.

Talk about stupid, and yet she did it again and again. She wished she could meet someone like Bobby, someone who’d love and respect her the way Bobby loved and respected Teri.

Now Bobby’s driver was interested in Christie. In contrast to all the previous men in her life, James Wilbur was the perfect gentleman. In fact, his politeness was downright excessive. And calling her Miss Christie, as if she was—oh, she didn’t know what. Special? Hardly. It was just one of his affectations, she told herself grumpily. He irritated her so much that she’d insisted she didn’t want him driving her anymore. She had her own means of transportation, such as it was, but despite the bald tires and faulty transmission, she did not require a chauffeur.

Teri might be used to such exalted treatment, but Christie didn’t like it. Besides, James showing up at her apartment complex in that fancy car caused too much speculation among her neighbors. It embarrassed her.

James made her feel self-conscious, opening the door for her, helping her in and out of the limousine. She didn’t need assistance to get into a car or out of one, either. That was so ridiculous it was laughable.

And yet, she had to admit his intentions were good. There was a kindness about him … Christie closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to think of him in pain. He’d been hurt recently, beaten by a couple of thugs who’d attempted to kidnap her sister, only they got her friend Rachel Pendergast instead. And they got James.

It all had to do with a chess tournament and a rival player who’d wanted Bobby to throw the match. He hadn’t; he’d won through some complicated maneuver and in the end the other player had been arrested.

Christie hadn’t expected to like Bobby Polgar. And she hadn’t gotten along with her sister for years. They’d simply avoided each other. It was just better that way.

Then all of a sudden they were back to being friends. being sisters. Christie wasn’t sure who’d done the maturing—probably both of them. And she suspected Bobby’s influence had made Teri more confident, more tolerant and forgiving. Bobby had been a good friend to James, too—not that she knew much about their history.

She reached for her beer and sipped it, wishing she could stop thinking about James. He lingered in her mind and she couldn’t make him disappear, which flustered her. She’d demanded he leave her alone, and he had, which flustered her even more. No one had ever done what she’d asked before.

When she learned he was hurt, she’d hurried to him, but James no longer wanted anything to do with her. He’d made it plain that he didn’t want her company. Christie got the message. She left him a rose, the way he’d left her one, and slipped out of his living quarters, feeling lower than dirt.

“You need another beer?” Larry asked, filling a couple of glasses from the tap.

Christie shook her head. “No, thanks.” She quickly changed her mind. “On second thought, maybe I will.”

Larry nodded approvingly, then leaned against the bar and whispered, “You feeling down about something?”

She shrugged. “You could say that.”

Larry set a glass of cold beer on the counter. “If you want to talk about it, just say the word.”

Christie shook her head again. Her feelings for James confused her; she wouldn’t know what to tell Larry or anyone else. The person she needed to talk to was her sister. Maybe Teri would help her understand what was happening.

“Hey, look!” Kyle, a plumber and a regular at The Pink Poodle, called out. “That limousine’s parked here again.”

Christie instantly felt heat invade her face. James was parked outside, waiting for her.

A couple of men walked over to stare out the window.

“What’s a limousine doing here?” Bill asked. He worked at the shipyard and was another regular. Both men were divorced and preferred spending time at the Poodle to sitting alone in front of the TV. Christie understood that desire for a social outlet; it was one of the reasons she was a regular herself.

“I saw that car before,” Kyle commented.

“Who in here would ever need a fancy vehicle like that?” Bill asked, turning to look at Larry.

“We never found out.” Larry headed to the beer taps with two clean glasses. “The car just seems to show up now and then. No big deal.”

“Are you going to let him use your parking lot like that?” Christie asked, fearing the other regulars might connect her with the limousine. She’d never hear the end of it if they did.

“Sure, why not?” Kyle was the one who responded. “It brings a bit of class to the place, don’t you think?” He directed the question to the bartender.

Larry was too busy filling glasses to respond.

Christie finished her second beer. She usually drank three, but after two she’d begun to feel light-headed. A third, which normally didn’t faze her, might be too much. Time to call it quits. Besides, she was tired.

“You goin’ home?” Larry asked when she paid her bill.

“Yeah.”

“You need me to call you a cab?”

“No. I’m fine, thanks.”

“See ya,” he said.

Christie waved goodbye, pulled on her short wool jacket, then wrapped the scarf around her neck and set out to brave the elements. The wind had begun to rise, picking up the last few scattered leaves and sending them hither and yon. Christie noticed that the smell of snow hung in the air and while the schoolkids would love a snowfall, she could do without it.

Outside The Pink Poodle, she heaved a sigh of relief that James had apparently given up and left. He’d come here to talk to her. When she didn’t immediately appear, he’d gotten the message that she wasn’t interested, and that was okay with her. Moreover, she didn’t want anyone seeing the two of them together.

In spite of all that, she felt disappointed. She was still worried about him and hoped his condition had improved. But ever since the kidnapping he’d acted as if he didn’t want her around. Fine. She, too, could take a hint.

A hundred thoughts swirled frantically, like the autumn leaves at her feet, as she struggled against the wind and around to the side of the building, where she’d parked her car.

“Christie.”

She’d recognize his voice anywhere. Peering into the darkness, she saw him. The limousine stood beside her dilapidated Ford and James was waiting for her there, out of sight of those inside the tavern.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded in a none-too-friendly voice. Her lack of welcome was part shock, part feigned anger.

“I came to check on you.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” she protested. “Did Teri and Bobby send you?” That would be just like her sister.

“No.”

“I don’t believe it.” Christie knew that Teri and Bobby wouldn’t have missed her yesterday; they’d invited plenty of friends to their Thanksgiving dinner party. Having to be at work so early this morning was a convenient excuse. Not that she’d given anyone the opportunity to question her about it. She’d stayed home all day and hadn’t answered her phone, although it must have rung a dozen times.

“You didn’t come to dinner.”

“So? I didn’t realize you were keeping tabs.” She kept the derision in her voice so he wouldn’t think she cared about his opinion of her. An opinion he would no doubt divulge any second now.

There it was. “You were rude to let your sister down.”

“So now I’m rude,” she muttered. “And you’re an expert on polite behavior?” Actually, he was, and he rightly ignored her question.

“Miss Teri held off serving dinner while she tried to reach you,” he said.

Christie felt bad about that, although she wouldn’t let James know. “What’s it got to do with you?” she asked flippantly.

“You aren’t usually a rude person, Christie.”

“Apparently I proved you wrong.”

“You stayed away because of me, didn’t you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she responded, although of course he was right. She’d skipped Teri’s Thanksgiving event for fear of another rejection from James. Instead of feasting on a turkey dinner at her sister’s, she’d eaten a microwave pizza and watched reruns of Seinfeld for three hours straight.

“Is that why you’re here? To criticize me? If so, message received. Can I go now?” she asked as though she’d grown bored with the conversation. Her ears were getting cold, even if her heart was pounding unmercifully fast.

“I’d like to apologize,” James said.

“For what? Embarrassing me in front of my friends just now?”

“No.” He paused. “For the other night.”

“What other night?” she asked, pretending that his hurtful words had no impact on her, that she’d forgotten whatever he’d said. In reality, it was something she’d never forget.

“Last month. You came to me—”

“Oh, that,” she returned breezily. “Hey, don’t worry about it. You didn’t want me around. I understand. It’s not a problem—at least not for me.”

He frowned, shaking his head. “I didn’t want your sympathy. Or anyone’s,” he added in a lower voice.

“Do I look like the sympathetic sort?” she asked, making a joke of it. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter.” She forced a laugh and with it came a loud hiccup, which mortified her.

“You’ve been drinking?”

“No.” She did an exaggerated double-take. “You think I sat in The Pink Poodle and drank?“

“I’ll drive you home.”

“Absolutely not.” She’d had two beers over the course of as many hours. She was perfectly capable of driving herself home.

“Christie …”

“I said no.” She wasn’t going to put up with any more of his disapproval. “Just leave me alone. You don’t want to see me and that’s fine, because I don’t want to see you, either. Do I need to make it any clearer than that?”

He turned away, then seemed to change his mind. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” she said, wrenching open her car door, which to her intense embarrassment made a loud groaning noise. She should’ve taken it to the repair shop, but hadn’t—because of the inconvenience and, more than that, the bill. A squeaking door was the least of her problems with this vehicle. It was on its last legs—or tires.

Rather than stand in the cold arguing with James, Christie climbed inside her car and started the engine. Thankfully it didn’t die right then and there, as she’d half expected. That would’ve made her humiliation complete.

Without looking behind her, she backed out of the parking place and pulled into the street.

One glance in her rearview mirror told her that James had pulled in directly behind her. He followed her all the way to the apartment complex and waited there until she’d parked. Even then he didn’t leave.

Christie was tempted to march over and demand he stop following her. Otherwise, she’d threaten to call the authorities and get a restraining order. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d filed one against a man.

But she decided not to let on that she’d noticed him. She hurried into her apartment and slammed the door, breathing hard. Several minutes passed before she regained her composure. The first thing she saw in the dark room was the light blinking on her answering machine.

Five calls, all of them from Teri. Her sister was determined to leave messages until she phoned back. Still, Christie resisted. Teri was bound to lecture her for not coming to Thanksgiving dinner.

After ten minutes she couldn’t stand it anymore and grabbed the phone. Teri answered after two rings.

“Okay, go ahead and be mad,” Christie greeted her sister. “Yell at me and get it over with.”

“Mad? Why would I be mad?” Teri asked.

“Because I didn’t show up yesterday.”

Teri sighed. “And we both know the reason for that.”

“I had to be to work at six this morning.”

“Bzzz.” Teri imitated an annoying buzzer sound. “Wrong answer. You didn’t show up because you were afraid to face James.”

No use trying to fool her sister.

“He came looking for me tonight,” Christie confessed.

“I know. How’d it go?”

Christie closed her eyes, debating how much to tell her. “Not good.”

“What happened?”

She settled for the plain, unvarnished truth; Teri was going to find out, anyway. “He … tried to apologize but … I wouldn’t let him.”

“Christie,” her sister said, “I thought you liked James.”

Like was such a mild word for the way she felt about him. “I do,” she whispered, wondering why she went to such lengths to prove the opposite.

“Then why did you—Oh, never mind, I know why. I did the same thing with Bobby. When he first showed interest in me, I did everything I could to chase him off. I thank God every day that he didn’t listen. What’s wrong with us, little sister, that we don’t recognize love when it comes knocking at our door?”

“James doesn’t love me—”

“Stop right this minute,” Teri said. “He cares about you—a lot.”

“If that’s the case, then why did he send me away when he was hurt?” she cried, unable to disguise her pain. “I wanted to be with him.”

“He was embarrassed, Christie. Surely you can understand. He didn’t want you to see him in that condition. He’d been beaten up! Give him a chance, will you?”

Christie was afraid to. She’d experienced so many disappointments—and this one would be the worst. “It won’t work.”

“You don’t know that,” Teri argued. “Look at Bobby and me. Who’d ever think the two of us would fall in love?”

“Listen, it might’ve worked out for you and Bobby, but that doesn’t mean it will for me. Let me deal with this my own way, all right?”

Something in her voice must have alerted her sister to the fact that Christie was serious. “All right,” Teri agreed with obvious reluctance, “if you’re sure …”

“I am,” Christie said firmly. “Promise me you’ll stay out of it.”

Teri sighed. “Okay then, if that’s how you want it.”

But Christie didn’t. Not really.




Six


“What’s for dinner?” Roy McAfee asked. His stomach growling, he glanced up from the Saturday edition of the Cedar Cove Chronicle and waited for his wife’s answer. It seemed to him that Corrie had been in the kitchen longer than usual.

“Leftovers.”

Again? Corrie was an excellent cook but it was the same every Thanksgiving. She chose the largest fresh turkey the store had available and then they ate bird for weeks on end. Really, how much turkey could four people consume? And how many versions of turkey did one man have to eat? Not that Roy was complaining—not really. He’d enjoyed Thanksgiving, and having two of his three children with Corrie and him was special enough.

“I’m making turkey pot pie,” she called from the kitchen. “It’ll be out of the oven in a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

“Mack will be joining us for dinner.”

“Good.” Lately Roy and his son had come to an understanding. He’d had high expectations of his only son. Then, as a teenager, Mack had rebelled and they’d been at odds ever since. All those years Roy was furious that Mack had refused to take his advice. Instead of finishing college and pursuing a solid career he’d dabbled in all kinds of things, often doing what Roy considered menial work, not worthy of his talents. They couldn’t spend an hour together without arguing. Everything had changed around the time Gloria entered their lives.

Gloria was the daughter he’d fathered with Corrie back in college. When he broke off the relationship he hadn’t realized she was pregnant. Not until much later did he learn that she’d borne their child and given Gloria up for adoption. For Corrie, pregnant and alone, it had been the right decision at the time. Still, their marriage had been haunted by the loss of the child they’d never known.

But life had, in a way, come full circle, bringing their child back to them. Gloria had searched for her birth parents, craving a relationship. And she’d found them. Roy had tried to steer his son into police work but it was Gloria who’d gone into law enforcement. She’d recently left the Bremerton police department to work for Troy Davis at the local sheriff’s office. Roy was proud to see her in uniform, serving the community he and Corrie—and now Gloria herself—called home.

Corrie stuck her head out of the kitchen. “I forgot to tell you Linnette phoned this afternoon while you were at the office.” As a private investigator, he often went in to work on weekends, especially if he had a backlog of cases.

Roy set the newspaper aside. Linnette was living in North Dakota, working as a waitress, and claimed to be loving it. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that what she loved was the town of Buffalo Valley. He’d sided with his daughter when she’d announced she was leaving Cedar Cove, although personally he hadn’t been in favor of it. However, as he’d told Corrie, it was Linnette’s life and Linnette’s decision. After the failure of her relationship with Cal Washburn, she’d been heartbroken and humiliated. She wanted out; Roy didn’t blame her. He hurt for her.

“She told me Thanksgiving with Pete and his family was very nice,” Corrie said, coming all the way into the living room now.

His wife’s face was flushed from the kitchen’s warmth and her hair was disheveled from running floury hands through it. Corrie had put on a few pound over the years—but then who hadn’t? To him, she was more beautiful at fifty-six than she’d ever been.

“Roy McAfee, why are you looking at me like that?” Corrie demanded.

“I was just thinking I’m married to a gorgeous woman.”

“Oh, honestly!” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you want to hear about Linnette?”

“Anything new with her?” He couldn’t imagine there would be. They’d talked a couple of days before Thanksgiving, as well as on Thanksgiving itself. Linnette had spent the day with Pete Somebody, a farmer she’d met. From the sound of it, he was a decent, hardworking young man. It was a bit soon for anything serious between them, but he trusted Linnette’s judgment and wanted her to be happy. He just wished she’d found that happiness a little closer to home.

“She’s been working with Hassie Knight.”

“The old woman who owns the pharmacy in Buffalo Valley?” he asked. It was hard to keep them straight, all the people Linnette mentioned in her phone calls. Generally, she spoke to Corrie and then his wife relayed the information to him.

“That’s the one.”

“Working on what?”

“Getting a medical clinic up and running,” Corrie said excitedly.

This was news, and Roy couldn’t believe she was just telling him now. He’d been home for a couple of hours. “Hey! That’s great.”

“Buffalo Valley is growing and they need a clinic. Hassie claims it’s divine providence that brought Linnette to their town.”

He nodded, pleased that Linnette would be using her education. She’d worked hard to become a physician assistant and it’d be a shame to see all that effort go to waste. Roy had said she’d eventually go back to medicine, and he’d called it right.

“She’s thrilled about this opportunity. You might give her a call later.”

“I might,” he agreed, although it was always Corrie who did the phoning.

Roy had never been comfortable expressing emotion or, for that matter, being on the receiving end. Nevertheless, he loved his wife and his children, all three of them. They made him proud. Even Mack …

There was a knock at the door, but before Corrie could open it, their son stepped into the house. A blast of cold air came in with him.

“Whatever you’re cooking smells great,” he said appreciatively, rubbing his bare hands.

Corrie cradled his face and kissed him loudly on the cheek.

“That was the right thing to say,” Roy told him with a grin. “Not that it isn’t true,” he added swiftly.

Mack guffawed. “Good save, Dad.”

Roy lifted his hand in acknowledgment but didn’t get up. He’d injured his back years before and as a result had taken early retirement from his job with the Seattle police. His back still caused him pain, which he did his best to ignore. Some days he succeeded at that better than others. This was one of his less successful days.

Mack pulled out the ottoman and sat down near his father. “I stopped by the Cedar Cove fire station this afternoon.”

Roy straightened. This was what he’d been waiting to hear. He wanted to ask if Mack had been chosen for the position, but was patient enough to let him make his own announcement.

“Good grief, Mack,” Corrie cried. “Don’t keep us in suspense!”

“The captain said there’s a letter waiting for me in Seattle.”

“Oh.”

Corrie’s obvious disappointment echoed Roy’s. He’d hoped a job in Cedar Cove would bring him and Mack closer. They’d come a long way in the last two years but, as Roy was the first to admit, they still had a long way to go.

“Why the sad looks?” Mack asked. “My application’s been accepted! Effective December fifteenth, I’ll be working for the Cedar Cove Fire Department.”

Corrie covered her mouth with both hands and shrieked with delight.

“Congratulations, son,” Roy said. Leaning forward, he slapped Mack on the shoulder. Despite his more temperate response, he was no less elated than his wife.

Corrie’s eyes gleamed. “Of course you’ll stay with us until you find a place to rent.”

“Actually, no.”

“No?” Corrie frowned. “But … we’re your family. Where else would you live?”

“The thing is, I’ve found a place.”

“So soon?”

“Yes, and it works out great. Would you believe I’ll be living in Linnette’s old apartment? Will Jefferson’s subleting it, and I’m assuming his lease.”

“You?”

“Where’s Will going?” Roy asked. “He’s barely moved in. You mean to say he’s moving out already?”

“He purchased the Harbor Street Gallery.”

That was old news. Big news when it happened, because it had looked as if the gallery was about to close its doors for good. No one wanted that. The entire community had breathed a collective sigh of relief when Will Jefferson decided to buy it.

“Yes, we know about Will taking over the gallery,” Corrie said. “He’s not leaving town, is he? After all this, it would be a shame if he turned over the management to someone else.”

“Nothing like that,” Mack explained. “Apparently the gallery has a small apartment that’s been used for storage during the past few years. Will couldn’t see any reason to pay rent when he already has a place he could live.”

“I didn’t know the gallery had an apartment.”

“Me, neither,” Roy said. “It’s got a second story, though, so it doesn’t really surprise me.”

“Up until now it’s been crammed full of junk. Will’s been working all weekend to get it cleared out. At last count he’d made three trips to the garbage dump. He’s having painters come in on Monday.”

“The place could probably use updating, don’t you think?” Corrie asked.

“I’ll help him whenever I can,” Mack said.

From habit Roy nearly spoiled everything by making some disparaging comment about Mack’s carpentry skills. Thankfully, he stopped himself in time. His son was a capable carpenter; not only that, he’d worked as a painter and part-time post-office employee. He’d done a dozen other jobs since he’d dropped out of school.

“Will said he’ll eventually buy his own place, but at this point, he’s content to fix up the apartment.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Roy murmured. “Makes sense to stay on the premises.”

“That’s the cop in you talking, Dad,” Mack said with a laugh.

Corrie laughed, too. “So when are you moving into Linnette’s old apartment?” she asked.

“As soon as I can make the arrangements. The lease is up in a few months and that’ll give me time to decide what I want to do—buy or continue renting.”

“Good idea, son.”

Mack met his eyes and they exchanged a smile. This was progress, real progress, for both of them.

The oven timer went off, and Corrie returned to the kitchen.

“Let me set the table,” Mack offered, following his mother.

Roy reached for the paper but he didn’t see the words in front of him. Instead he pondered the state of his children’s lives. Gloria was doing well. Linnette was going to start a medical clinic in Buffalo Valley, North Dakota. And now Mack was taking on a responsible job with the Cedar Cove Fire Department.

Roy didn’t think life could get much sweeter than this.




Seven


“She’s going to be fine,” Cliff Harding said, standing behind Grace as she prepared their morning pot of coffee. He placed his big hands on her shoulders in a comforting gesture of love and concern.

Grace pressed her hands over his and wished she felt as confident as he seemed to be. Olivia, her best friend, her life friend, had cancer. The word struck terror in her heart. This wasn’t the first time a friend, someone she cared about, had been diagnosed with breast cancer. But this was Olivia, who was as close to Grace as a sister. They’d been best friends from the moment they’d met in first grade.

They’d seen each other through every life crisis—from Grace’s teenage pregnancy to her first husband’s suicide. From the death of Olivia’s son Jordan to her divorce. They’d been through so much together, nearly every loss a woman could experience. Olivia knew Grace better than anyone. And Grace knew Olivia.

But cancer. Grace wanted to scream, to howl, to weep. She felt helpless, impotent, with no idea what to say or how to support her friend. Her fears for Olivia overwhelmed her.

Cancer was so unfair. It didn’t make sense. This shouldn’t be happening to a woman as conscientious and positive and kindhearted as Olivia. She was the one who watched her diet religiously. She took her vitamins every morning without fail. She exercised and looked after herself emotionally and spiritually. What more could she possibly have done?

“You going to the hospital?” Cliff asked, although he already knew the answer.

“I told Jack I’d sit with him while … while they do the surgery.” She turned around and slid her arms around Cliff’s waist and hid her face in his chest. A shiver went through her.

“Hey, hey, relax,” Cliff whispered soothingly, stroking her hair. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“I won’t be able to relax until we know for sure the cancer hasn’t metastasized.” So far, the tests were encouraging, but until the surgery was done, they wouldn’t know whether the cancer was localized and her lymph nodes were clear. Grace wanted reassurance and she wouldn’t rest until she heard the physician say the words.

Even when things were at their worst, Olivia had always seemed to be in control. From the time they were in grade school, Grace had admired her. Young as she was, Olivia had been so well put-together, so smart and organized. She wore crisp dresses with Mary Jane shoes and perfect pigtails. In high school she’d been elected a class officer every year. She was popular, intelligent, capable and her peers recognized it and sought her out.

But that lifelong sense of control had abandoned Olivia now.

When the coffee finished brewing, it was Cliff who got two mugs and filled them both. He handed the first one to Grace. “Would you like me to go with you?”

Grace’s immediate reaction was that she would’ve liked nothing better. Then she remembered that Cliff had a meeting with a horse breeder he’d been looking forward to seeing for weeks. His willingness to reschedule the appointment touched her deeply.

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine—and so will Olivia.” She forced a smile, sipped some more of her coffee and then walked back to their bedroom to change out of her night-clothes. As she sorted through her wardrobe, she wondered what one wore to an event like this. Her normal attire at the library was a cotton turtleneck pullover with a jumper. She had quite a few jumpers, some of which she’d sewn herself. In the end, she opted for tan khaki slacks and a rust-colored V-neck sweater over a white polo shirt.

Grace couldn’t imagine why her outfit seemed so important, yet somehow it was. She wondered if this could be a way of distracting herself from Olivia’s surgery. Or perhaps it was a more complex psychological phenomenon, like … like suiting up for battle. Because this was battle, even if she was going to be standing on the sidelines.

When she arrived at the hospital, she discovered that Olivia had already been checked in and given a sedative before the surgery.

As Grace entered her hospital room, Olivia raised her head and glanced at the door. Grace hesitated. Seeing her dearest friend so vulnerable nearly brought her to tears. But the last thing Olivia needed was for Grace to turn into an emotional wreck. Swallowing the giant lump that blocked her throat, she managed to grin. “Hello there,” she said with a heartiness she was far from feeling.

“Grace,” Olivia whispered. “I told you it wasn’t necessary to come. I should’ve known you’d never listen.”

“I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else,” Grace said. “I need to be here—if not for your sake, then my own.”

Olivia’s eyes were serious and she nodded slightly. “Thank you.”

Grace reached for her friend’s hand and they held on to each other the way they had countless times through the years.

“Where’s Jack?” Grace asked after a moment, wondering why Olivia’s husband wasn’t with her.

“He went to get coffee,” Olivia explained. Their eyes met and Olivia bit her lip. “The coffee’s just an excuse. He’s not dealing with this well.”

“Hey, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly a pillar of strength myself.”

Olivia smiled.

“This is crazy, you know?”

“The cancer?” Olivia asked.

“Well, that, too. But I was talking about something else.” Grace paused to take a long breath, trying not to cry. “You’re the one with cancer. Jack and I love you and so do Will and Charlotte and your kids. We’re all willing to do whatever we can to help you through this. Unfortunately, we’re falling apart, at least Jack and I are.” She laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. “The crazy part is that you’re the one who’s comforting us.”

Olivia dismissed her words. “Nonsense.”

“Look at me, Liv,” Grace said, dashing tears from her face. “I’m a mess. I want this to go away.”

“You think I don’t?” Olivia teased. “I never thought it would happen to me. There’s no history of breast cancer in my family. I eat right, exercise, get my yearly checkup and yet here I am. This isn’t fair, is it?”

“Cancer usually isn’t.”

They continued to hold hands, still clinging to each other when Jack walked in holding a foam coffee cup. He looked as if he hadn’t slept all night and was as pale as Olivia.

An orderly stepped into the room directly behind him. “We’re ready for you now, Ms. Griffin.”

“I’m ready for you, too,” Olivia murmured. Her gaze moved from Jack to Grace and she gave them both a reassuring smile. “I don’t want either of you to worry.”

“Right,” Grace lied.

“It is what it is,” Olivia said.

That sounded too much like resignation to Grace. This wasn’t the time for acceptance; it was a time to fight.

Jack walked by Olivia’s side, holding her hand, with Grace trailing behind. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I know,” Olivia whispered back.

The orderly rolled the entire bed out of the room and down the hall to the surgery center.

“Everything’s going to be just fine,” Grace reiterated aloud because she needed someone to say it, even if that someone was her.

“Yes,” Jack said.

By unspoken agreement they moved toward the surgical waiting area. Jack sat in one of the upholstered chairs, which were clustered into groups of four and six. He drank his coffee as he stared into the distance. Right now they were the only people there and had chosen the chairs closest to the door.

“Did Olivia wonder why I took so long getting the coffee?” he asked, looking in her direction for the first time.

“If so, she didn’t say anything to me,” Grace assured him, although it wasn’t the complete truth.

A sigh rumbled through his chest. “I decided to go to the hospital chapel,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve done a lot of things I’m not especially proud of through the years. I wasn’t sure I had the right to ask God for anything.”

“I know what you mean.” Grace had plenty of lapses herself, plenty of misgivings about her own right to ask.

“I took my chances and asked God to be with Olivia,” Jack said. He leaned forward and splayed his fingers through his hair. “I want to do every single thing I can for her.”

“You already are.” Falling in love with Jack Griffin, marrying him, had changed Olivia’s life, bringing her more happiness than she’d ever expected. This man had stood by her and always would.

Grace glanced at her watch, astonished to realize it’d been less than ten minutes since the orderly had come for Olivia. Time seemed to creep by; Grace felt conscious of every second. When another five minutes had slowly passed, Olivia’s daughter, Justine, and her mother, Charlotte, walked into the waiting area. Charlotte, as usual, toted an enormous knitting bag.

“Is Mom in surgery?” Justine asked.

Grace nodded.

Charlotte sat down next to Jack and automatically pulled out her knitting. “It calms my nerves,” she announced to no one in particular. Her fingers worked at an impressive speed, and Grace tried to guess what the multicolored yarn would become.

“I wish I could’ve seen her before the surgery,” Justine said, pacing restlessly.

“It’s all right, dear,” Charlotte said calmly. “Your mother knows how much you love her. She knows you would’ve been here if you could.”

Justine continued pacing. “I used to think I didn’t really need my mother.” She sounded close to tears. “I was so confident that I knew what I was doing.” She gave a little shake of her head. “Mom never liked me dating Warren Saget. She didn’t trust him. I think in some ways I went on seeing him out of spite, just so I could prove how wrong she was.”

“Justine,” Charlotte said quietly, setting her knitting down in her lap. “All daughters go through that with their mothers. Olivia did with me, as well. It isn’t until we’re mothers ourselves that we understand.”

Justine folded her arms. “She was right, you know—about Warren, about me loving Seth and … and everything else. I need her in my life. Leif needs his grandma and so does our new baby.” She flattened her palm against her stomach.

Grace had recently learned that Justine was pregnant with her second child and knew Olivia was ecstatic.

They all grew quiet for several minutes. In the distance Grace saw workers setting up Christmas trees and hanging decorations. She’d forgotten that this was the first of December.

Charlotte was knitting steadily, her fingers slowing to a more relaxed pace. “I told Ben this morning that we should cancel the cruise. I want to be with my daughter.”

“Grandma, Mom would be furious if you did that,” Justine said. “You and Ben have been planning this vacation for months.”

“Yes, I know, but …”

“Go, Charlotte,” Jack told her. “Justine’s right. Olivia would be upset with you for staying home.”

“I realize that. Still …”

Charlotte didn’t finish what she was about to say. Her eyes brightened and she smiled as Pastor Dave Flemming joined them in the waiting area.

“Oh, Pastor,” Charlotte murmured in relief. “I’m so pleased you were able to make it.”

“I’m glad to do it,” Dave said, sitting next to Charlotte.

“Olivia’s in surgery now,” Jack explained. “Everything depends on whether the cancer has spread. We won’t know exactly what we’re dealing with until we know that.”

“Whatever happens, I wanted to tell you I’m available anytime. All you need to do is call.”

“Thank you,” Justine said.

“Would you like me to pray with you now?”

“Please.” It was Charlotte who answered. She set aside her knitting needles and bowed her head.

Justine sat beside Grace and closed her eyes. Seeing how shaken she was, Grace took the younger woman’s hand in her own. Justine held on tightly.

Pastor Flemming’s prayer was brief, but it brought Grace a sense of peace. She didn’t know what the outcome would be, but for the first time she was ready to leave that with God.

When Pastor Flemming finished, the small group whispered, “Amen.”

The prayer affected them all. Jack looked more composed and so did Justine. Charlotte picked up her knitting needles. Grace found herself breathing normally again.

They chatted amicably with Pastor Flemming for a few minutes until he said, “I’ve got a meeting, so I’d better leave now.” He got to his feet.

Jack stood, too. “I can’t thank you enough for stopping by.”

The pastor nodded and patted Jack’s shoulder affectionately. “We can’t always know what the future holds, but we know Who holds the future.”

“That we do,” Charlotte concurred, her fingers busy.

“Remember,” Pastor Flemming said, “if there’s anything you need, day or night, call me.”

“Thank you again,” Grace told him, grasping his hand as they exchanged goodbyes. “Please pray for her.”

“Of course,” he promised. “Olivia is in my prayers, as she is in yours.”

He left soon afterward and the small gathering continued their visit, newly energized or so it seemed to Grace. As they talked, Jack reached sheepishly inside his pocket for a hand-held gadget.

“What’s that?” Justine asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Video poker,” Jack mumbled. “Bob Beldon bought it for me. He said it’d help distract me while Olivia’s in surgery.”

Justine planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You mean to say my mother’s fighting for her life in there and you’re going to sit here playing video games?”

“Uh …” Jack hesitated, then nodded decisively. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Oh.” Justine paused. “Do you think they have those in the hospital gift shop?” she asked, breaking the tension.

Grace burst into laugher, and so did Justine and Jack. Charlotte looked up, but didn’t seem to understand the joke. They were still chiding one another when the surgeon entered the waiting room.

Simultaneously they all stood, their laughter instantly cut short. Every eye was on Dr. McBride.

The silence seemed to pulse through the room.

“We were fortunate to have detected the tumor when we did,” he began.

“Do you mean it hasn’t metastasized?” Grace asked in a hushed voice.

“No, it doesn’t look like it. The margins seem to be clear. We’ll have to wait for the final diagnosis to be sure, but we sent tissue down to the lab during surgery, and according to the pathologist, there appears to be no lymph node involvement.”

“Thank God,” Jack whispered. And then, as if his knees had given out on him, he sank back into his chair.

Tears formed in Grace’s eyes and she hugged Justine. Sniffling, Justine hugged her back.

“I knew it all along,” Charlotte said righteously. She, too, sat down and once again her knitting needles started clicking. “I told you, didn’t I?”

“Olivia’s oncologist has scheduled a regimen of chemotherapy and radiation treatments for her,” the surgeon said.

Grace hardly heard a word after that.

Her friend had always been a survivor. Cancer was just one more obstacle Olivia would surmount with her unyielding grit and determination.




Eight


Dave Flemming left the Bremerton Hospital and drove directly back to Cedar Cove for his meeting with Allan Harris. The attorney had asked to see him before Thanksgiving, but with his busy schedule and the holidays pressing in on him, this was the first opportunity Dave had found.

Harris’s office was off Harbor Street. Dave parked as close as he could, which happened to be two blocks away. At some point over the weekend, Christmas decorations had begun to appear. Evergreen boughs stretched across Harbor from one lamppost to another, strung with twinkling white lights. Every year the holiday season seemed to sneak up on him. He didn’t have time to consider what this added expense would do to the family’s already tight budget. Frankly, he preferred not to think about it.

The wind off the cove was cold and Dave hunched his shoulders against it as he walked up the steep hill to the office. When he stepped inside, Geoff Duncan, Allan’s legal assistant, glanced up.

“Hello, Geoff,” Dave said, holding out his hand. He knew the young man casually. They’d talked once or twice after Martha Evans’s death. Allan Harris had been in charge of Martha’s legal affairs; he was a man the older woman had trusted.

“Pastor.” Geoff got up, his own hand outstretched. A moment later, Dave turned to a row of pegs and hung up his coat.

Geoff was a likeable young man with a firm handshake. He dressed professionally in a suit and tie, and his demeanor was low-key, unthreatening. A good attribute for someone in a small-town legal practice, Dave thought.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Harris phoned a few minutes ago and is tied up in a meeting,” Geoff said. “He didn’t think he’d be more than fifteen minutes. Would it be possible for you to wait?”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Wonderful.” Geoff rubbed his palms together. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, water?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Thanks, anyway.” Dave strode over to the small waiting area and sat down. No one else was in the office. He rested his ankle on the opposite knee and reached for a three-month-old issue of Sports Illustrated.

“Actually,” Geoff said, following him. “I was hoping for a chance to talk to you.”

“Sure.” Dave closed the magazine. “How can I help you?”

“I don’t know if Allan mentioned it or not, but I’ve recently become engaged.” The young man’s lips tilted in a pleased smile.

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you.” Geoff’s smile grew wider. “I feel like the luckiest man alive because Lori Bellamy’s agreed to marry me.”

The Bellamys were major landowners on Bainbridge Island. Dave had heard the name any number of times through the years because of the family’s many philanthropic projects. If he remembered correctly, the Bellamys owned a theater and various prime pieces of waterfront in the downtown area of Winslow.

“When’s the wedding?”

“June,” Geoff said.

“Perfect month for a wedding.”

“Yes.” Geoff lowered himself into the chair next to Dave. “Lori said something about premarital classes. What’s your feeling about those?”

“I highly recommend them.”

“I don’t know.” Geoff didn’t sound convinced. “She seems to think they’re important, but …”

Dave tried to reassure the young man. “They help alleviate problems later on, Geoff,” he went on to explain. “It’s crucial for a young couple to establish the lines of communication before they say their vows.”

Geoff shifted a bit and looked away. “Are these classes expensive?”

That was a tricky question. Dave didn’t charge anyone in his congregation for counseling, whether individual or in a class; however, he couldn’t speak for other churches. “I don’t believe they are.”

“Lori’s family are willing to pay for them—along with everything else.” This last part was said with some bitterness. “I don’t mind them picking up the cost of the wedding—that’s traditional—but for the rest, I believe Lori and I should pay.”

Dave approved of his attitude. He speculated that while Geoff made a decent wage as a legal assistant, he couldn’t handle an extravagant lifestyle. But Dave liked the young man’s sense of honor, his determination to pay his own expenses.

“If you want, I could set you up with a couple of sessions,” he offered. “You and Lori can meet with me and we’ll see how it goes.”

“What would that cost?”

“Nothing.” Dave shook his head. “You can make a donation to the church later if you decide it was worth your time.”

Geoff looked shocked. “Really?”

“Of course. I want you to start your marriage on the right foot.” He paused, thinking a moment. “It’ll probably be more convenient for you to do the sessions in Cedar Cove, anyway, rather than on Bainbridge Island, since you’re working here. What about Lori? Does she work in the area?”

“She has a part-time job at a dress shop in Silverdale. This should be good for both of us,” Geoff said. “I’ll talk to Lori and get back to you.”

“You do that.”

Geoff returned to his desk, and Dave picked up the magazine again. He hadn’t read more than a few paragraphs of an article about steroid use in professional sports before the front door opened and Allan Harris exploded into the room. He was a burly, energetic man.

“Dave, Dave,” he muttered, “sorry to keep you waiting.”

Dave placed the magazine on the nearby table and stood. “No problem.”

Allan shrugged out of his wool overcoat and hung it on the peg next to Dave’s. “Did Geoff offer you coffee?”

“Yes. I’m full up, thanks.”

Allan lifted the glass coffeepot, which sat in an alcove next to his office, and poured himself a cup. “It’s colder outside than a witch’s—” He stopped abruptly. “Beg your pardon, Pastor.”

Dave didn’t bother hiding his amusement. People seemed to assume he’d never heard or uttered a swearword in his life, when in fact, he was as fallible and as prone to weakness as anyone else.

Perhaps even more so, he mused, cringing at the thought. He hated what was happening between him and Emily but seemed unable to tell her the truth. After Christmas, he’d fess up. That was a promise he fully intended to keep.

Carefully holding his mug, Allan led the way into his office. He motioned to the visitor’s chair across from his desk, then claimed his own.

“I appreciate that you’re willing to meet with me,” Allan said, setting his mug on a coaster amid the clutter of papers and books.

“I’ll admit I’m curious as to why.” Dave guessed this had something to do with Martha Evans. The elderly woman had died in September. During her last year, Dave had made a point of visiting her as often as he could. In many ways, she reminded him of his own grandmother with her indomitable spirit and sharp wit. She kept a Bible close at hand and had memorized large sections of Scripture.

“I’ve been talking to the heirs,” Allan said.

“Yes?” Dave couldn’t help noticing that the attorney suddenly seemed agitated, rolling a pen between his open hands.

Allan stared hard at him. “Several pieces of Martha’s jewelry are missing.”

“I know.” But Dave didn’t understand what that had to do with him. He’d already spoken to Sheriff Davis and told him everything he knew about the missing jewelry, which was next to nothing.

“Would you mind going over the details of the morning you discovered her body?”

“Of course not.” Dave hesitated. He’d described it to the sheriff more than once, and had the creeping sensation that Allan was viewing him as a suspect. That unnerved him. “I stopped by two or three times a week to visit,” he began.

Allan nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“That particular day was a Saturday.”

“It was,” Allan concurred.

“She didn’t respond to the doorbell. Martha no longer left the house for anything other than doctors’ appointments. When she didn’t answer, I was afraid something might be wrong.”





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